DAMAGED DOORS DON'T COME CHEAP

[Toxxic 0]

The SWF presents...

DAMAGED DOORS DON'T COME CHEAP

(just ask Landon. He'll tell you)

LIVE to DVD from the 1st Mariner Arena in Baltimore, Maryland!
7pm EST, Wednesday 14th May 2008!




LAST WOMAN STANDING CAGE MATCH
Annie Eclectic vs Taiga Star
They've battled. They've fought. They've gone through weaponry, arenas and sexist comments, and they cannot be separated. So now... we find a way to separate them. By putting them in a cage, in one of the SWF's most gruelling stips to boot. Someone's going down, boys and girls!

...I totally didn't put that innuendo there, you did it yourself.

Rules: Cage around the ring. First woman to not answer the ten count loses. Anything goes.
Word Limit: Whatever. Knock yourselves out. Or each other, preferably.
Send To: Toxxic


NON-TITLE MATCH
Insane Luchador© vs 'Hollywood' Spike Jenkins
The Ill One has ascended to the top of the mountain! The Insane Luchador is our WORLD FUCKING CHAMPION! And don't think this is some 'gold watch' reign, oh hell no. IL got here on merit... but how long he keeps it remains to be seen. Spike Jenkins is always clamouring for a shot at the Big Gold Belt, but despite an impressive win over S.I.N. he won't be getting one yet. He does get the World Champion though, and a win over the tog dog always looks good on your resume when Toxxic and Landon are drawing up the list of contenders.

Rules: Standard singles
Word Limit: 5500
Send To: King Cucaracha


S.I.N. & Tracey Bruner vs TKO
There is a definite 'understanding' now between Tracey Bruner, Sir Marvellous and S.I.N. Let's see how well they do at understanding in an official, in-ring capacity, shall we? Opposite them stand a well-oiled team from the Orient, former SWF Tag Champions as sneaky as they come. Even the presence of Sir Marvellous might be cancelled out by Chris Card Enterprises. It's going to be one hell of a battle folks... and you know that the outcome will be taken into consideration when it comes to determining the challengers to VDN for those tag straps.

Rules: Tag rules. Use the tag ropes.
Word Limit: 5500
Send To: King Cucaracha


REVENGE!
Dance Dance Dragon vs Chris Card
So, we're more used to seeing Chris Card outside the ring than inside it. However, Dance Dance Dragon has a real issue with how he got treated by Technical Perfection after beating KOJI Kitano, and he wants some payback. The sound of a fat cheque is all it took to tempt Card into the ring, and now Dragon can beat on him to his heart's content... but it's worth remembering that Chris Card is a manager not because he can't wrestle, but because he decided he could make money easier that way. He's still well-versed in Muay Thai, and while not as young as he was he'll have a barrel of dirty tricks to dip into to make life hard for his young opponent.

Rules: Standard singles
Word Limit: 5000
Send To: Toxxic



*LATE ADDITION!*
Munich vs Arne Andersen
Holy shit, Munich's back! Let's see what he's still got.

Rules: Standard singles
Word Limit: 4000
Send To: Toxxic

Send all marked matches, promos etc to Toxxic

[Toxxic 0]

It is a quiet night in General Manager Toxxic’s office. Damaged Doors Don’t Come Cheap is about to begin, and although the arena is pulsing with excitement, there’s several tons of concrete between him and the excitement in question, which tends to put a hamper on feeling it. Toxxic isn’t focused on that right now anyway; he has an appointment.

 

A knock at the door heralds the appointment’s arrival. The Brit’s glance at the clock is accompanied by a grin; the man’s never late.

 

“Yeah,” says Toxxic, and the door opens, a familiar bearded face letting itself in. “Good to see you again, JJ.”

 

Johnson cracks his neck and extends a hand for a handshake, his traditional greeting ever since he abandoned his other traditional greeting, which was really more of a glare. “You too, Toxx. What did you call me in for?”

 

“Have a seat, JJ,” says Toxxic, gesturing towards a chair. He withdraws the gesture after Johnson gives him the old traditional greeting. “Or don’t. Here’s the thing. We want you to wrestle for us again, but there’s a problem.”

 

Johnson winces now; he knows what’s coming.

 

“You haven’t wrestled a match in a year and a half, and you haven’t won a match in longer,” says Toxx flatly. “Frankly, nobody takes you seriously anymore. So we want you to wrestle, but under a gimmick.”

 

Johnson’s eyebrow skyrockets. “What kind of gimmick?”, he growls.

 

Toxxic smirks that wry smirk of his and crosses the room before whispering something in the Canadian’s ear. Finished, he backs off again and waits for Johnson’s re-

 

“Hell no.”

 

-sponse, which comes a little sooner than he expected. “Are you sure?”, asks the general manager.

 

“Positive,” snarls the Canadian.

 

“We’ll double your pay,” shrugs Toxxic. This time, the one-time Mr. Cold Front Classic gives it some serious consideration before shuddering and consenting.

 

“Fine,” sighs Johnson. “I’ll do it. I’ll need entrance music, all I listen to is metal.”

 

“I’ve got something in mind,” grins the GM. “You’ve seen The Big Lebowski, right?”

 

“Of course,” says JJ, with a grin. It’s his favorite movie.

 

“Remember when Jesus licks the bowling ball?” asks Toxxic.

 

Johnson starts to laugh… and then he realizes what his former stablemate is saying. His shoulders slump, and he begins walking out of the office.

 

“Just be embarrassed all the way to the bank, it’ll make you feel better,” suggests the GM, and just barely ducks a loogie as the Canadian leaves the room, although he receives the full brunt of an equally spat “I hate you.”

 

The smirk goes back to Toxxic’s face, and he looks around the room, his eyes resting on a Pirates cap with an “hD” stitched next to the big yellow P.

 

“Oh, can’t forget this,” says the GM, and he grabs the hat before rushing out into the hallway to catch up with the bitter Canuck.

 

“JJ! You forgot something!” is all we hear echoing down the hallway as we…

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

 

[Toxxic 0]

DING DING DING!

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is our OPENING MATCH, and it is scheduled for ONE FALL!” bellows Funyon, looking dapper as always as the crowd erupts, ready to get this show on the road.

 

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Damaged Doors Don’t Come Cheap!” grins Mak Francis as the camera pans to his and the Suicide King’s announce table and Amon Amarth’s “Pursuit of Vikings” begins chugging its way out of the sound system. “We have a thriller of an opener for you, as high-flyer Olaf Andersen will be taking on newcomer Dr. Pirata!”

 

“Indeed!” nods King. “And with the… did you just say Dr. Pirata?”

 

“Yes,” shrugs Mak Francis. “I don’t name the wrestlers, I just announce ‘em.”

 

“Fair enough,” sighs King as Funyon roars “Our first contestant, from Stockholm, Sweden, weighing in at 228 pounds… Olaf Andersen!”

 

The boos rain down like candy from a pinata as Andersen slides into the ring, ignoring the many jeers from the many fans in the 1st Mariner Arena. Before they can get too negative, however, the lights drop out, and out from the speakers comes…

 

 

 

 

 

“POR EL CAMINO DEL DESIERTO!

EL VIENTO ME DESPEINA!

SUBE EL AROMA DE COLITA!

LUNA, LUNA DE NADIE!”

 

… the Gipsy King’s cover of “Hotel California,” and with it comes the SWF’s newest super(?)star, Dr. Pirata, to the adulation of the audience!

 

“Good God, this is the song from The Big Lebowski when Jesus licks the damn ball,” groans King.

 

“And on his way to the ring, from Caracas, Venezuela, weighing 243 pounds… DOCTOR! PIIIIIRAAAAAATAAAAA!” shouts Funyon over the cheers of the Baltimore crowd as Dr. Pirata begins doing a series of athletic dive rolls down the ramp!

 

“Look at the display of agility, King!” says Francis, almost giggling as Pirata makes it to the bottom of the ramp… and drops to his knees, gasping for breath.

 

“Yes, he’s practically Jack LaLanne,” frowns King before re-opening his copy of Heel’s Life. To the back, you know, where they sell the hover cars and crap.

 

Having gotten his wind back, Pirata slides into the ring, leaping to his feet and performing a cartwheel. A few more gasps, and then he assumes a fighting stance, as Andersen arches his eyebrow and Funyon calls for the bell.

 

DING DING DING!

 

“And we’re underway!” shouts Francis as the two combatants begin circling, Pirata’s fists and Andersen’s eyebrow raised. It is the Swede who tests the waters first, with an athletic dropkick. Pirata crosses his arms to block, however, and Andersen uses the momentum of the kick to backflip onto his feet. It is only a brief moment after his landing, however, that Pirata displays his training under Sensei John Kreese and sweeps the leg, knocking Andersen onto his back!

 

*BANG!*

 

Pirata scrambles for the cover, and referee David Blazenwing drops to count to no avail, as Olaf immediately puts his shoulder up. This development hardly matters to the good doctor, as he spins around to Olaf’s head and tucks the raised arm under his arm before starting to wrap his arm around the Swede’s throat… and then he stops, rolls away and kips to his feet! The crowd applauds, but suspicions are aroused at the announce table.

 

“Either I’m crazy, or that was a Buffalo Sleeper he started going for,” frowns King.

 

“While I won’t accept the ridiculous premise that you’re not crazy if that was a Buffalo Sleeper, that did look like that hold, a Danny Williams/JJ Johnson signature. Strange things are afoot in the squared circle, K,” nods Francis.

 

Andersen does his own kip-up – the crowd is unimpressed – and then runs off the ropes before rebounding, heading straight for Dr. Pirata! Pirata leaps and turns his body sideways, lashing out with a gamengiri, but the agile Andersen ducks under it and bounces off the other side of the ring before leaping into the air, Dr. Pirata looking up from his landing on his knees just in time to eat a thunderous dropkick!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“BOOOOO!”

 

Pirata rolls away, clutching at his mouth, but Andersen nonchalantly rolls him back with a foot before leaping into the air and delivering a fist drop! After this, Pirata lays still, and Andersen quickly makes his way to the turnbuckle, spreading his arms wide for a moment to bask in the glory of the crowd’s adulation! No, it doesn’t come.

 

“Andersen’s going to go for his Full Moonsault here, and if I were Pirata, I’d get up!” shouts Mak as Andersen leaps to the second turnbuckle, bouncing up to the top.

 

“Yes, because if you were Pirata, you COULD get up,” snorts King as Andersen rebounds off of the top turnbuckle and arches backwards through the air, flashbulbs going off around the arena, the Swede taking in the view below him…

 

… namely, the view of an empty canvas.

 

With lightning reflexes, Andersen is quick to put his feet down, but he keeps his knees a bit too rigid and so staggers back, holding his knees… only to feel something wrap its arms around his waist and tuck its head underneath his arm, which means one of two things: Blazenwing is getting clingy again, or he’s in for a world of hurt.

 

“Pirata’s going for a backdrop here!” shouts Francis, as the crowd gets ready. Unfortunately for them, Andersen assumed the latter, and as Pirata bends to lift him, the Swede delivers a knee to the forehead that sends the Venezuelan reeling! Olaf quickly dances to the other side of the ring, and an angered Pirata gives chase, raising his right arm and throwing a crushing running elbow!

 

That doesn’t connect, as Andersen ducks it and trips him, garotting him against the second rope!

 

“BOOOOO!”

 

“Was he about to elbow him?” queries King, eyebrow arched.

 

“Who cares!” shouts Mak as Andersen scales the ropes for the second time this match, hoping for more success. “Here comes his Crescent Moon leg drop!”

 

But no, here it does not come, as Pirata is quick to pull his head out of the ropes. Andersen was wise enough to hesitate a little before launching himself into the void, and so he instead comes off the top with a missile dropkick that connects right to the good doctor’s sternum!

 

*THWOCK!*

 

Olaf’s luck keeps improving, too, as his momentum carries him through Pirata, landing him on top of him for a combination of dropkick, splash and cover! Blazenwing drops to count!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

T-and Pirata forcefully muscles Olaf off of him. Olaf springs to his knees and comes right back down with a fist drop, but ends up punching wood and steel as Pirata twists out of its path! As the Swede clutches his hand, the Venezuelan kips to his feet, and does a dive roll forward, coming to his feet just in time to bounce off the ropes and sprint back at Andersen and CATCH A DROPKICK TO THE CHEST!

 

*THWOCK!*

 

Pirata staggers back into the ropes as Andersen approaches, no doubt preparing another follow-up attack. Unfortunately, it never comes to fruition, as Pirata comes thundering off of the ropes with a speed much quicker than that with which he fell into them, using his momentum to crush the Swede’s jaw with an elbow smash that snaps Andersen’s head back and sends him to the canvas like a 1980s Tyson opponent!

 

*CRAACK!*

 

As the crowd showers Pirata like candy from his namesake if it was an N with a tilde over it instead of an R, the Venezuelan dives on top of the Swede and makes a cover!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

TH-and Andersen, perhaps through sheer instinct, muscles out of the cover, his eyes glazed like donuts as he rolls towards the ropes. Pirata is wise enough to grab his tights and pull him back into the ring before he has to go and get him, and he lifts him up and tucks his head under his arm, to more cheers!

 

“Pirata’s going for that backdrop he tried earlier!” shouts King, and indeed, Pirata takes a little hop before surging upwards, taking Andersen up…

 

 

 

… over…

 

 

 

 

 

… over…

 

 

 

 

… and onto his feet, Pirata losing his grip and tumbling to the mat as the agile Andersen lands as safely as a cat! The Venezuelan is quick to kip up and whirl to face his opponent, but Andersen is quicker, jumping up and wrapping his legs around the doctor’s hapless Hispanic head and tumbling back with a hurricanrana!

 

 

… and as Andersen hangs there upside down for a moment before a very powerful, very angry force begins pulling him back up, he realizes that he may or may not be in deep trouble.

 

“Hurricanrana by Andersen blocked by Pirata, and the doctor may be looking for a powerbomb here!” grins Mak. Of course, just because you look for something doesn’t mean you’ll find it, and Andersen hurriedly delivers a few punches before hopping over the head of the Venezuelan.

 

 

Then, Andersen feels the pirate doctor turning around beneath him. He tries, in spite of Galileo and all the world, to somehow fall faster, but then he feels arms around his waist, and just as soon as he lands, he is being lifted back up…

 

 

 

… over…

 

 

 

 

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

 

… and down, Pirata spiking him onto his neck with a bridged Dangerous Venezuelan suplex!

 

“German suplex! German suplex! David Blazenwing slides in to count!” shouts Mak.

 

“Please, Mak,” sighs King. “Pirata is Venezuelan.”

 

Pirata is Venezuelan, Andersen has no idea what he is, and Blazenwing is counting.

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“WALCOME TO ZEE ‘OTEL CAHLEEFORNIA!” comes roaring out of the speakers as the crowd explodes with cheers! Pirata releases his iron grip on Andersen’s waist and rolls out of the ring, fans reaching out to touch him as he raises his arms in victory, skipping up the ramp!

 

“And a decisive first victory for Dr. Pirata!” says Mak with glee. “I’m sure we’re going to be seeing a lot more of him in the future!”

 

“Don’t get so excited about seeing more of him, people will think Bobby Riley is back,” frowns the Suicide King.

 

“I hate you,” spits Mak. “But never mind that! It’s Munich returning against Olaf’s brother Arne! Will the larger Andersen have more luck, or will the Four Norsemen’s bruiser be turned into Swiss cheese? We’ll find out, next!”

 

Fortunately, the sound guys are well versed in this, and before King can start spouting profanities only vaguely relating to neither of the Andersens being Swiss, we…

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

 

[Toxxic 0]

“Guys we have to go backstage where some kind of commotion has broken out!” shouts Mak Francis as the picture flicks to a scuffle backstage. Three figures are exchanging blows, the first the pugnacious Puerto Rican SIN. Assisting him is the massive seven foot form of Tracy Bruner. In the middle and somehow managing to give as good as he gets is one half of the tag team champions Dace Night. A fourth figure is on the edge of the picture – Sir Marvelous, laughing and urging on the attacking pair. “Chaos has been cut loose!” calls Suicide King, “As the alliance of SIN and The House Of Marvelous has Dace Night in their sights.

 

Bruner's massive ham like fists crunch into Dace's body and the Hardcore Superstar reels backwards. SIN fires off a few overhand rights of his own and Dace is backed against a wall. Drawing strength from who knows where Dace thunders back with a series of forearms, alternating targets between SIN and Bruner, but as Bruner backs off Dace is forced to turn half away from SIN and that's all the space the Puerto Rican needs as he fires off a vicious low blow, dropping Dace Night to his knees. “This is a cynical and well planned attack.” comments Mak.

 

“This has the hallmarks of Sir Marvelous' genius all over it,” replies King. With Dace dropped to his knees, Bruner is handed a chair and SMASHES it over Dace's head once... twice... THREE TIMES! Dace Night drops to the floor. SIN stands over the prone and stunned body of his victim and mimes firing a pistol shot off into Dace's head. “Another sickening attack on the tag team champs by SIN and Tracy Bruner,” calls Mak, “One can only wonder where this is going to lead.”

[Toxxic 0]

"Welcome back to the SWF's showing of Damaged Doors Don't Come Cheap!" exclaims the young play-by-play man Mak Francis. A quick camera pan shows the large crowd that inhabits the 1st Mariner Arena. "Tonight, of course, has a lot in store for our fans. There is already a buzz in the air for our main event, where Taiga Star and Annie Eclectic look to settle their feud once and for all in a Last WOman Standing Cage Match!"

 

Francis is interrupted by the sound of "Pursuit of Vikings" by Amon Amarth, which draws quick jeers from the crowd. The Four Norsemen are here. Coming out quickly from behind the curtain is Arne Andersen, the barrel-chested enforcer of the Norsemen. He quickly walks down the ramp and into the ring, whilst Funyon readies his pipes.

 

"The following is a match scheduled for one fall!! Introducing first from the dark land of Sweden ... Arne Andersen!"

 

"Now this is a guy we need to see more of, Mak," says King. "He's tough, he doesn't give a damn, and he's Swedish! The perfect villian, outside of yours truly." "In all honesty, I can't argue with you much on that one, King. Why would he need to gain more weight, though? He's fine as is," jokes Mak. A groan from King can be heard in the background as the viewer watches Andersen quick enter the ring. He stands in the middle of the ring and raises four fingers aloft, to the ire of the crowd.

 

"Just a reminder fans! Tonights SWF presentation is brought to you by Milk!! 'Suck it from the source!'" shills Francis.

 

"Pursuit of Vikings" slowly fades away from the arena, and the arena waits for the next opponents, a certain type of buzz in the air. "Phantom of the Opera" kicks up on the PA, the majority of fans rise to their feet, confused at the noise pollution radiating in their ears. The SWFtron awakens with grainy images of a man dishing out punishment to other men inside of what could be a wrestling ring. Loud, yet simplistic pyro fires off in the stage, and the image comes clear on the SWFtron. Scattered cheers ring up from the crowd, as the returning Munich strides out onto the stage. He quickly makes his way to ring, as Arne Andersen scoots out, slightly dragging the apron with him.

 

"And his opponent! From Chicago, Illinois! Making his return to the SWF, Munich!"

 

"Oh, give me a break. This guy has nothing left to offer the SWF!" exclaims King. "He's damaged goods! He can barely walk! And he'll probably blab to the company website about my underground cock-fighting ring in Shebogan!!" King goes on. "This coming from the guy who bet me one-thousand dollars that The Insane Luchador would never become World Champion!" fires back Mak Francis. "Munich is back to finally realize his potential, and find that spark he had when he was a younger man. The SWF needs a story like him!" yells Francis.

 

"Shut up!" yells King.

 

Munich slides in the ring, and quickly raises his fists to the ceiling, drawing a moderate pop from the audience. Andersen rolls back into the ring as Munich starts to perform stretches in preparation for the match. SWF head referee Mathew Kivell finds himself in the ring as well, ready to do his pre-match inspection of the performers. Seperated in different corners of the ring, the two men undergo their tests, and after deemed battle-worthy by the venerable Kivell, the match is signaled to start.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Munich quickly charges across the ring at Andersen, catching him off guard. Munich leaves his feet, and quickly drives a forearm into the forehead of Arne. Andersen stumbles back against the ropes, and Munich continues his offensive, much to the delight of the Baltimore crowd. The Chicagoan drives a flurry of elbow and forearm strikes in his larger opponent's head and shoulders, dazy him. Andersen raises his meaty forearms up to protect himself from the blows. Dazed, Andersen waits for lull in the blows to lean forward with hard thigh to the midsection. The blow temporarily takes Munich's wind away, dropping him to one knee.

 

After shaking the cobwebs from his head, Andersen too goes on the attack. With his left hand pushing Munich's head down, he drives two strong forearms into Munich's bare back, causing the older man to arch his back in obvious discomfort. Munich starts to throw both left and right hands into the thick abdomen of his attacker, momentarily halting Andersen.

 

The taller man then gives Andersen a bearhug, and drives with his leg foot. THe two men fall through the bottom ropes and tumble to the floor, the ring apron becoming dishelved in the process. It is quite easy to see the broadcast in the background, as the two men try to regain their footing.

 

"What a quick fast start to this match, King. This is what the SWF loves bringing to cities like Baltimore! Munich drove Andersen through the ropes like he were Ed Reed of the Ravens!" yells Francis. "This is exactly what Andersen enjoys, though. This is going to be a brawl! It's not my cup of tea, personally, but it's fun to watch!" says King.

 

The two men reach their feet at the same time, and continue to brawl, much to the liking of the crowd. Munich is able to gain the upper hand with a few well-placed elbows into the cranium of Andersen. The veteran locks arms with his foe and looks to Irish whip Andersen. He is able to whip Andersen, but holds onto his opponent, and pulls him back towards himself. Munich quickly raises his right leg, and nearly caves in the Swede's face with a Yakuza Kick of Eternal Suffering! Amazingly, Andersen stays on his feet, yet stumbles passed Munich and winds up tripping of the steel ring steps.

 

"YAKUZA KICK OF ETERNAL SUFFERING!!" exclaims Mak Francis. "Look at Munch!! Ripping off the signature move of one of old JL rivals! That's discipable!" yells King, obviously mentioning End of Days leader Trash from the old JL.

 

He falls into the crowd barricade, obviously feeling the effects of the kick. Munich too feels the effects of the kick, as he hunches over and quickly massages his surgically repaired lower right leg. The attacking Chicagoan rolls back into the ring, and out once more to interrupt Mathew Kivell's countout. Munich then charges Andersen, and clotheslines him over the barricade and into the crowd behind him. The fans eat it up with a spoon, jeering Arne as he enters their domain. Munich then hops the barricade, gaining friendly slaps on his back from the crowd as he approaches the downed Andersen. As Arne raises to his knees, Munich grabs him around his skull, and starts to thrust Arne's face into the crowd barricade. The sound of visage of barricade rings out in the crowd section. As Munich relents and Andersen's body falls to the concrete floor, the veteran lets out a primal yell, which is cheered on by the surrounding fans. A small chant rings out from the crowd.

 

"MUNICH! MUNICH! MUNICH!"

 

"The veteran is a house of fire right now, King. He is really taking this fight to Andersen!" says Francis. "There is no way that Munich can keep this current pace up. Andersen is to tough and powerful to let this go on for long," answers King.

 

The former JL Champion then hops the barricade back to the ring floor. Arne slowly rises back to his feet. Andersen's torso is then pulled over the the barrier. Munich locks in a front face lock, obviously looking to suplex Andersen back over the barricade. Andersen, cleverly, brings both his hands up, and slaps the ears of Munich, halting his progess. With and audible grunt the Swede reaches around and grabs a hold of Munich's pants, and then quickly lifts him up. Andersen, of course, drops Munich face first on the barricade!

 

Munich snaps back up to his feet, then quickly stumbles and finds himself against the ring apron, his head surely spinning. Inside of the ring, Kivell's new count reaches the number of six. Andersen, recovering fairly quickly, despite a growing mouse on left cheekbone, climbs over the barricade and reenters the ring floor. Andersen stops for a moment to feign a backhanded slap at a certain young man at ringside. Many middle fingers are then flipped at the villian. Arne approaches Munich, and after grasping the sides of Munich's head, leans forward and delivers a fierce headbutt into Munich's forehead. Munich reals back, and is then rolling back into the ring.

 

"The Norsemen taken control of the match with that face-first suplex on the barricade," says Francis. "This is the time for Andersen to attack Munich's weak point, which is the right leg," says King.

 

Munich rolls around in the ring, trying to regain his composure in the ring, rolling to and fro, looking to regain his bearings. Andersen, still recovering from the previous onslaught, stalks his prey. As Munich reaches the seat of his pants, Andersen is directly on top of him. Arne pivots his hip and slams a knee right into Munich's face, causing the tall man to tumbling to his back.

 

"He almost knocked Munich's mustache into the first row, King!" cries Francis. "Right.." King is quicked cut off by Mak. "Quick cover by Andersen, and Kivell moves in," says Francis.

 

ONE! TWO!! KICKOUT!!!

 

"That lateral press from Andersen is not enough to keep Munich down. I don't care if it's 2002, or 2012," says Francis. "It's all strategy, Mak. Andersen knows Munich doesn't have great stamina. Hell, I'm sure he can smell it on him. Each pinfall you break up during costs energy that could be used for sustaining a comeback later on. It is always a good move to go for a quick pin," explains King.

 

Meanwhile, back in the ring, a frustrated Arne looks up to Kivell in disagreement. He claps his hands together, complaining of a slow count. Starting to see Munich stir, he slams his right paw down onto Munich's exposed chest. The blow nearly tears off Munich's chest hair.

 

The crowd, directly on cue, sounds off in response to the move.

 

"WOOOO!!"

 

Grabbing a handful of hair, Andersen drags Munich back to his feet, and after a blow to stomach from a clenched fist that Kivell hisses at, locks the older man in a front facelock. He grabs Munich's waistband, and then executes a fundamentally perfect suplex. The Chicagoan arches his back once more in obvious discomfort. Andersen quickly jumps down and locks in a rear chinlock on the former JL World Champion. Munich quickly fights back to his feet. Andersen suddenly shudders in fear.

 

 

*KICK WHAM C-4 Crunch*

 

ONE! TWO!! THREE!!!

 

"Your winner of the match...Munich!"

 

"The Phantom of the Opera" quickly sounds on the PA as the fans, confused, give Munich a moderate ovation.

Edited May 16, 2008 by King Cucaracha

[Toxxic 0]

The arena lights dim and the military beat that forms the intro of "The Sweetest Perfection" by Depeche Mode starts up. Overlaid is the voice of Brad Pitt as Tyler Durden...

 

"All the ways you wish you could be – that's me. I look like you wanna look, fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable and most importantly I am free in all the ways that you are not."

 

And as the beat hits, the arrogant Chris Card breezes through the entrance way as purple and white strobes fire up. So arrogant is he, all he's done is move a curtain and already we're calling him arrogant. That's arrogance.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, he hails from Nottingham, England! Accompanied to the ring by Natasha... he weighs in at two hundred, thirty eight pounds... "TECHNICAL PERFECTION"... CCHHHHHRRRRRRIIIIIIIISSSSSSSS... CCAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRDD!!!"

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

Card breezes on to the ring with Natasha at his side, head held high over the booing fans he passes in the aisle. Into the ring rolls Card, holding the ropes open for Natasha.

 

"A rare in-ring appearance from Chris Card, here tonight in Baltimore." Mak points out. "All stemming from our event in Nova Scotia last month, where The Dance Dance Dragon sneaked over TORU Takahara but was then beaten down by the ranks of TKO. As happened to The Fabulous Jakey earlier last month. Commissioner Maddix had enough of Card and co. running roughshot and now, Card finds himself back in competition for the first time in... some time."

 

"Great research."

 

"Thanks."

 

"See, now comes the part where I pick apart your bias and incorrect opening spiel. First off, Maddix has a vendetta against Chris that goes way back past April. There's your real reason why he forced him into this match. Secondly, he didn't 'force him into this match'..."

 

"Actually King, you said that, not me."

 

"...Card accepted of his own accord." insists King, ignoring Mak.

 

With some not entirely exerting warm-ups, Card bides his time through the intro to "Hung Up" by Madonna. The troupe of Dragonesses make their way out and assemble around the holographic dance mat shining on the entrance way, coming to life the moment the intro ends and The Dance Dance Dragon heads out to set the makeshift dancefloor alight!

 

"And, his opponent! He comes to us from Heaven's Dancefloor... weighing in at two hundred and nineteen pounds! This is THE DANCE... DANCE... DDRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR - AAAAAAAAGGOOOOOOOOOOONN!!!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

 

Dragon dances his way on down the aisle, with Card looking on non-plussed.

 

"Judging from the comments from Card during the week, he's already, unsurprisingly, made the same mistake many others have before him of underestimating The Dance Dance Dragon. You'd think with only one defeat since arriving in the SWF, people would have learnt their lesson by now."

 

"Luck is temporary, class is permanent." sneers King. "Dragon's impressive little run hasn't encountered anyone on Chris Card's level."

 

"Alan Clark? Scott Pretzler? Our current World Champion The Insane Luchador?"

 

"Still. He's lucked out a few times, but that comes to an end here at 3D2C."

 

"...did you steal that line from Card?"

 

As Dragon enters the ring he makes a stylish move towards Card, who weaves himself through the ropes and motions for referee Hardcastle to keep him back. A strategy session starts up between Card and Natasha, forcing Dragon to wait for his chance for retribution, swaying impatiently in the corner.

 

"At least we shouldn't be seeing any involvement from TKO during this one."

 

 

*DINGDINGDING!*

 

The bell sounds and Card leisurely wraps up his talk with Natasha, before taking some time to adjust his wristtape. Because, you know, that's important stuff. Once he's good and ready Card then hustles out of the corner and the two men circle, with Dragon prefering to moonwalk than merely walk backwards.

 

"D - D - D!"

"D - D - D!"

"D - D - D!"

"D - D - D!"

 

The circling comes to an abrupt stop, Card waving everything off and telling Hardcastle that he won't lock-up until the fans lower the volume to an appropriate level.

 

"Last time I checked, we weren't running shows in libraries."

 

"That'd be cheaper on the budget." King helplfully suggests. "I oughta pitch that to the board of directors."

 

The fans keep on chanting though, until Card eventually loses patience. Lock-up centre of the ring and Card grabs a side headlock, taking Dragon down to the canvas. Dragon prys Card off of him with a headscissors, but Card rolls forwards to turn Dragon onto his front, escaping the scissors and tying up the legs. From there he goes right back to the side headlock to Natasha's applause.

 

"All night long!" cheers King.

 

Dragon climbs back to his feet and tries to work his way out of the headlock, but Card keeps him on his heels with little body adjustments, preventing him from doing so. After toying with Dragon for a while, Card takes him down to the mat again. Kicking up the legs, Dragon gets Card in another headscissors to escape. No problem for Card, who rolls over to turn Dragon onto his front... but before Card can get out, Dragon pushes up on his hands and puts extra force on the headscissors!

 

"Hey!"

 

"Nice move from Dragon!"

 

Kicking his feet in pain, Card is eventually freed and rolls back to his feet nursing his neck. He complains about something to the referee...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...and turns around into a knifedge chop!

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

And another one! Wanting no piece of a third, Technical Perfection lunges low and takes Dragon over with a fireman's carry, into a lateral press...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW...

 

 

Quick kickout, but Card controls the left arm. Both men come to their feet with Card in control. Dragon twists his way out of the controlling hold though...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...and lays in with another strong-style chop!

 

"Striking with Chris Card ain't the greatest strategy ever devised."

 

"Seems to be working okay so far." contests Mak.

 

"Yeah, well... so's your wheelchair!"

 

"Uh, thanks?"

 

Dragon backs Card up against the ropes, shooting him off. Up and over goes Card on the rebound, Dragon shifting on the mat and sticking his legs up for a monkey flip. Card performs an awkward looking jump over and between the legs, carrying on into the ropes. Rolling backwards and to his feet, DDD leaps up and connects with a Front Dropkick on the rebound, looking for the cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

Retreating into a corner, Card tries to buy himself some time from the referee. Unfortunately Hardcastle isn't on the ball when he's needed most and Dragon gets to the Englishman first, trapping him in...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...chop. And a right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...chop. Right hand.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

Chop, Right hand.

 

"No welcoming-back party for Technical Perfection, but he is being thrown a Violence Party!"

 

As the barrage of strikes continues the referee steps in and manages to get Dragon to back off for a second. A crucial second, as it allows Card to shake off the shots and reach down, grabbing a tighthold on Dragon's bodysuit and dragging him face-first into the middle turnbuckle!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"There's the experience of Chris Card though." Mak groans.

 

With Dragon slumped over the middle buckle, Card backs up before delivering a hard kick downwards into the shoulder blades. Another kick is then laid in, before Card drags Dragon off the ropes. Card delivers a couple of reciepts by way of elbow strikes, then snapmares Triple D over onto his BUTT. A kick to the back is followed with a thrust kick to the chest. Off the ropes, Card then delivers a kneedrop and quickly hooks a leg...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

Card quickly locks on a rear chinlock to keep Dragon under his control. As Dragon struggles to fight back, the sneaky Card then reaches up his free hand and starts to mess with the laces on the back of the mask which earns him a warning from the referee.

 

"Come on, there's no need for that!"

 

"Relax, he's probably not trying to unmask him." smiles King. "It's just psychological. Card doesn't have to pull the mask off all the way, all he's got to do is lossen it up a bit and that's all Dragon's gonna be thinking about the rest of the match. He hits a move, his first thought'll be to make sure the mask is still on, not on making a cover. It's smart."

 

"It's shady."

 

"(mysteriously) It's Chris Card."

 

"What is he now, a perfume?"

 

"Hey, he's certainly this man's obsession."

 

Delivering a couple more kicks to the back, Card leads Dragon up again by the mask and strikes out with an elbow to the gut. Card then delivers a vertical suplex and floats over into another cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

No!

 

Dragon sits up and immediately Card is back on the mask, forcing him to scurry away to keep his identity under wraps. Card follows him into a corner and delivers a couple of stomps, letting The Masked Dance Assassin up before firing off with multiple roundhouse kicks to the body, not letting his foot hit the floor for a second.

 

"Chris Card's version of 'toe-tapping', I suppose."

 

In total control at the moment, Card leads Dragon out of the corner backwards into the position where he wants to deposit him with a back suplex. Card then delivers a nonchalant axe kick right in the middle of the sternum. Away rolls Dragon with muffled coughs coming from underneath the mask, ending up by the ropes. Card goes after him but Hardcastle steps in the way, initiating a conversation with Technical Perfection. Although really it's Card doing all the initiating, knowing full well that Natasha will meet her cue and choke Dragon across the bottom ring rope out of the ref's line of sight!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

"That's Chris's version of pointless back-up dancers." smiles King. "Quite an improvement, I'm sure you'll agree."

 

"No TKO, but Natasha is still around to get involved!"

 

Natasha goes back to innocently watching the match right as Card gets away from the referee, in perfect synchronicity with her man. The Englishman pulls Dragon up and hangs him up over the middle rope instead, choking him with his knee for a second or two. Card then sends Dragon for the ride, going up with a Bicycle Kick to cut Triple D down on his way back! Cover...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Card stalks Dragon as he gets back up, measuring him for a rolling sobat to the gut. With DDD doubled up, Card then comes off the nearest set of ropes with a knee strike to the side of the head!

 

"That's it, clean knockout." cheers King.

 

Hook of the leg by Card...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

"Okay, the mask is clearly padded."

 

Waving Dragon back to his feet, Card measures him up again. All very methodical, he picks his spot with a kick to the back of the knee. Then a kick to the chest. Card then shuffles back on his heel and goes for a Roundhouse... but Dragon ducks it! Grabbing a full nelson, Dragon sets up for the Dragon Suplex. Card breaks the full nelson though, spins DDD around and lifts him up into a fireman's carry. Card waves the ref out of the way and backs into a corner, coming out looking for the Finlay Roll...

 

 

 

 

...but Dragon escapes down the back and drops the bottom out on Card with a Diving Reverse DDT!

 

"That may just turn the tide." calls Mak.

 

"But look at Dragon, more concerned with the mask than the pin."

 

After getting the mask adjusted, Dragon finally flops himself over Card...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

"See? That was no mistake on Card's part, Mak."

 

"Evidently not. And again, I say it's as shady a tactic as it is smart."

 

"But it's effective, which is all that really matters."

 

Both Dragon and Card pull themselves up to their feet at roughly the same time, but it's Card who strikes first, running at Triple D with a dropkick. Dragon sidesteps to evade though, then hits the ropes himself. Coming back, he opens up the right hand and throws a palm strike at Card's chiseled face... but a sidestep from Card this time allows him to take The Bemani Bruiser down by the arm, looking to trap him in a Fujiwara armbar! The Technical Perfection doesn't kick in in time for Card to get the hold fully locked in, Dragon rolling out and to his feet...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...where he delivers a knifedge chop!

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

And a second! Card blocks a third though, catching the arm and pulling him down into the Fujiwara position once more!

 

"Card trying to take this to the mat before Dragon can pick up the pace, but it's not quite working out."

 

Escaping the armbar with a tuck and a roll again, Dragon waits for Card to get back up...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOOOO!"

 

...and lays in another chop!

 

"If this is 'strong-style', I think I'll pass if it's all the same." King sneers.

 

It seems that one found the mark as Card stops in his tracks to catch his breath. Dragon takes advantage with a quick irish whip, cutting Card down with an elbow on the rebound and breaking out into a full 360 moonwalk to celebrate.

 

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

"DRA - GON!"

 

With the people behind him, Dragon watches Card up to his feet, picking him up into a fireman's carry. He summons the strength to throw the near 240 pounder forwards off the shoulders, right into a HARD punt to the ribs on the way down!! Card stops for breath and Dragon hits the ropes, hand extended for the Running Palm Strike which moves Card's nose about an inch higher up his face!!

 

"Oh, what a shot!" exclaims Mak.

 

"I'll bet you that glove is loaded too! You can't trust these Japanese, if wrestling has taught us anything it's that they're shady... and possibly concealing salt or some sort of mist upon their person, if in the US."

 

"We'll get some calls about that. In the meantime, cover..."

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

Quickly Dragon makes it to a corner and heads up top while Card is still trying to clear his head.

 

"The Dragon looking to spread his wings here!"

 

But it's something else that's spread, as Card topples in the general direction of the ropes as he gets to his feet, causing Triple D to get CROTCHED across the top turnbuckle! The Baltimore fans cry foul but Card insists it was purely accidental when Hardcastle starts to reprimand him. Card does a good enough job to convince the ref and shooes him aside, before scaling the ropes... and catching Dragon in the back of the mask with a Step Up Enziguri on the top!! The masked man ends up hanging in an inverted tree of woe and Card backs up, allowing Natasha to reach into the ring and pull Dragon's face into the bottom turnbuckle a couple of times without being spotted!

 

"Look at this! If Card gets any closer to the ref, we'll have to put an R-rating on this DVD!" Mak howls.

 

"There's no problem. He's just has something INCREDIBLY important to say to him all of a sudden."

 

Natasha gets out of dodge and Card quickly unties Dragon's leg, pulling him off the turnbuckles and dragging him into a position where he can be covered...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!

 

Quickly Card flips himself around and sits at Dragon's side, looking to apply a Cross Armbreaker!

 

"Right back to the arm. And Card, almost got this one locked in, he just needs to get the fingers unlocked!"

 

Despite being dazed, Dragon realises the predicament he's in and quickly clasps his hands together to prevent full hyper-extension of the elbow. Card pulls back but Dragon keeps the fingers locked and suddenly starts to bridge up. Leaning towards Card, he manages to stack him on his shoulders, for a pin...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

Card kicks out and Dragon lands right back where he was, Technical Perfection refusing to relinquish the arm. He pulls back again and again...

 

 

 

...until finally the hands come apart and the Cross Armbreaker is locked in!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"He's got it!"

 

"The Wakigatame, an incredibly painful submission hold!"

 

No need to tell Dragon that as he thrases around in pain, desperately moving himself towards his left until his foot rests on the bottom ring rope for a quick escape. Or, not so quick if Card has anything to do with it.

 

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

"FOUR!"

"FI..."

 

Card breaks before a DQ, but has done his damage.

 

"Dragon knew he couldn't spend any lengthy amount of time in that hold," calls Mak, "it doesn't take long to tear away a ligament or dislocate an elbow in that position. And he very quickly got over to those ropes."

 

"But not quickly enough to escape without any pain. I don't think we'll be seeing many more of those 'strong-style' chops any time soon."

 

Pulling DDD up by the mask, Card delivers a forearm. And another. Wringing out the arm, Card then looks to weave behind after bringing Dragon out into the centre of the ring. Hammerlock applied, he slowly starts to pull back the head... but Dragon turns inwards and reverses positions, Card ending up captured in the Dragon Sleeper!!

 

"Wha... how the hell did he do that!?" King exclaims.

 

Dragon pulls back on the appropriately named hold for a second or two, until Card gets over the surprise and finds an escape with a snapmare. Up rolls Dragon and Card spins around looking for another Rolling Sobat. Dragon guides it away safely with his hands, booting Card in the gut and doubling him up in position to set up for the Newbie Killer...

 

 

 

...but as soon as he laces the right arm, Card slides out and up with the hammerlock, pulling back the head and giving Dragon a CARDIAC ARREST!!

 

"Great escape by Card and he drops him down, on the arm, the back of the head. This could do it!"

 

Card reaches up and grabs a leg...

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!!

 

"YYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"But Dragon is nothing if not resiliant!"

 

"That's true." snaps King.

 

Climbing back to his feet, Technical Perfection drops to a crouching position and prepares to leave his Calling Card on The Masked Dance Assassin! The crowd sense it and try to warn Dragon, who holds his right shoulder as he pulls himself slowly back to his feet.

 

"Dragon's chest is about to know what it feels like to be one of his stupid dance-pads."

 

Dragon gets to his feet and still clutching his arm, he turns around, walking right into Card's path...

 

 

 

 

 

...MISSED! Dragon avoids recieving the Calling Card and pulls Card down in a Backslide!

 

"Look out!"

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO!!

 

Rolling through, Card tries to pick Dragon back up. But DDD breaks free and chops out the legs, then delivering a kick to the chest! Card rocks back on his knees and Dragon delivers another kick. Waiting until the timing is just right, Dragon then rears back... and delivers a kick to the side of the head!

 

"That's the Combo!"

 

Card rocks backwards again but stays on his knees, allowing Dragon to bring him back to his feet still dazed. Turning his back on Technical Perfection, Triple D hooks up the arms and turns Card over, elevating him up off the canvas...

 

 

 

"NEWBIE KILLER..."

 

 

 

 

*ppfffft!*

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

...NO! No killing can occur, as Natasha jumps to the apron and sprays her Aerosol Equalizer right point blank in the face of The Dance Dance Dragon before Card's neck gets crunched!!

 

"Damnit! That's as blatant as it gets!"

 

 

*DINGDINGDING!*

 

The referee sees it and calls for the bell, as Card lands on his feet, let go by Dragon. Like last month a lot but not all of the spray is blocked by the eye portal on Dragon's mask, enough to irritate him but not leave him writhing in pain blinded like most. The irritation is enough to distract him momentarily though, allowing Card to pull him around by the arm...

 

 

 

 

...and DELIVER THE CALLING CARD!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"

 

Dragon goes down in a heap from the kick, Card not hanging around to hear any official announcements and rolling out of the ring to Natasha's side.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match as a result of a Disqualification... THE DANCE! DANCE! DRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGGOOOOOOOONN!!"

 

"YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

Showing little concern with the 'loss', Card heads off with his head held high and his hand raised definately by Natasha who flaunts the Aerosol Equalizer in her other hand. Card turns back to the ring and cracks a smile, seeing Dragon down holding his chest and being checked on by the referee.

 

"Card loses the match by DQ, but he was saved from a certain and painful defeat from the Newbie Killer by Natasha and that damn pepper spray!" chastises Mak.

 

"Wins and losses, whatever. The fact is, Chris Card got the result that really matters. He may not get the winner's share of the purse but, let's face it, that's hardly of major concern to him. He's walking out with his pride intact and his opponent laying, regardless of the result. That's what people are gonna be talking about, not a disqualification call."

 

"I don't see the pride in how things went down here at all."

 

With Card looking on with a smile, Dragon is helped up as we fade out.

[Toxxic 0]

“Well fans, up next we have what should prove to be a very interesting match,” Mak Francis pimps as the cameras scan around the First Mariner Arena, “a well-established tag team going up against a new alliance in the SWF… but King, when you look at the two men concerned you have to think that it’s going to be a very powerful alliance indeed.”

 

“Not just two men,” the Suicide King corrects his partner, “three. S.I.N. and Tracey Bruner are impressive physical specimens for sure, but don’t underestimate Sir Marvellous’s importance to the group. It’s his vision and his genius that brought these two together, and it’s his vision and his genius that is likely to take them to the top.”

 

“So how do think they’ll fare tonight against TKO?” Mak asks. “After all, TKO have Chris Card and Natasha in their corner.”

 

“Pfft, Card can only dream of being as great a manager as Sir Marvellous,” King snorts, “and Natasha’s good for eye candy, but not a lot else.”

 

“I hope you’re not fond of your testicles King, because I think they’ll be leaving you shortly after Natasha watches this DVD,” Mak comments.

 

There is no pyro, no change in the lights, nothing at all showy. What does happen is ‘Call The Ambulance’ by Busta Rhymes starts up, and daylight at the top of the entrance ramp is blotted out as Tracey Bruner appears, attired as always in jacket, fedora and shades. Beside him, a pilot boat to Bruner’s ocean liner, is Sir Marvellous with his cane. The mismatched pair start to make their way towards the ring, Marvellous taking two slightly limping steps for every one of Bruner’s massive strides.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon announces. “Introducing first; from Brooklyn, New York and accompanied to the ring by Sir Marvellous; he stands six feet ten inches tall and weighs in at 455lbs… TRRRRRRRRRRRRA-CEYYYYYY… BRRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUU-NERRRRRRRRRRRRR!!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The First Mariner Arena has no love for Bruner, and if the fans directly by the entrance ramp are a little more hesitant to boo as the mountainous figure moves past them, well it surely isn’t because of intimidation. Even if a steel guardrail is about as much protection from Tracey Bruner as saran wrap would be against a rabid rhinoceros. The massive bodyguard stomps up the ring steps before swinging one leg casually over the top rope to enter the squared circle, with his manager following behind him. Bruner glowers around at the fans in attendance, seemingly as unimpressed with them as he is with everything else he sets eyes on.

 

“Not quite the tallest, but possibly the heaviest man ever to set foot in the SWF ring,” Mak Francis notes, “and hella dangerous with it. I’ve said it before, but with that much raw power in one place Bruner would be dangerous even without the ring smarts that he’s rapidly picking up.”

 

“And don’t forget the mean streak,” King notes, “because that combination was enough to take Va’aiga out.”

 

The lights dim…

 

‘I’M SO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!’

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

‘Come Home With Me’ kicks up and S.I.N. walks out, apparently oblivious to the jeers of the fans on either side of the entrance rail as he approaches the ring.

 

“And his partner,” Funyon declares, “hailing from the Bronx and weighing in at 265lbs; this is SSSSSSIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNN!!”

 

S.I.N. enters the ring and clasps hands briefly with the smiling Sir Marvellous, before touching fists with Tracey Bruner as the two men start a quiet discussion, presumably about their tactics in the upcoming match. Bruner removes his fedora and jacket as they talk and passes them to Sir Marvellous, who takes them and exits the ring. ‘Come Home With Me’ starts to fade out and the lights go up…

 

…only to drop back down again as the pulsing electronic beats of ‘Tribe’ by Mad Capsule Markets start up. Strobes flicker back and forth across the arena, picking out the fans in attendance. The letters ‘T K O’ flash up on the Smarktron, interspersed with highlights of the tag team doing what they do best…

 

“And their opponents,” Funyon booms, “accompanied to the ring by Chris Card Enterprises; from Saitama Prefecture, Japan and at a combined weight of 483lbs, they are KOJI Kitano and TORU Takahara… TEEEEE! KAAAYYYYY! OOOHHHHHHHH!!”

 

The slim, attractive figure of Natasha Fitzpatrick appears on the soundstage and starts to walk down to the ring as Funyon speaks, but there is no sign of Chris Card and it isn’t until the first guitar riff hits that the tag team in question appear. TORU and KOJI stand with their arms folded as the muted Japanese chanting builds, waiting for-

 

*BOOOM!*

 

‘TRIIIIIIIIIBE! Why don’t you strike, justify your mind!’

 

-the explosion of pyro and the guttural riff to start in earnest! The two men then start to make their way down to the ring, alternately slapping hands or flipping the bird at fans, depending on how the mood takes them.

 

“No Chris Card,” Mak notes, “although that’s not surprising after the match he’s just had with Dance Dance Dragon.”

 

“Pfah, Card’s just a coward,” King snorts. “An out-of-shape coward, who’s too arrogant to come down to the ring and show everyone that he’s still blown up after a fight with a dancing moron.”

 

TKO reach the bottom of the ramp where Natasha removes their trenchcoats, then takes their sunglasses in the absence of Chris Card to perform this task. TORU and KOJI then jump simultaneously onto the ring apron, before taking hold of the top rope in both hands. The duo then leap into the ring, TORU performing a simple jump over the rope while KOJI opts for his normal rolling flip. Both men land on the feet, before flipping a double (quadruple?) bird at their opponents. Bruner simply tilts his head back and glowers, while S.I.N. takes the more proactive response of a string of four-letter words faintly picked up by the ring mics, some obscene hand gestures and a march across the ring towards the other team that is only stopped by referee Brian Warner getting in his way and warning him in no uncertain terms to wait for the bell.

 

“TKO showing their usual sportsmanship and good nature,” Mak Francis notes sarcastically as the two Japanese wrestlers laugh at S.I.N. over Brian Warner’s shoulder. “On the other hand, winding up S.I.N. might be a good tactic,” he muses, “he’s undoubtedly hot-headed…”

 

“And probably easier to do than winding up Bruner,” King says with a shiver, “I swear, that guy could commit murder without blinking. Talk about cold-blooded.”

 

Brian Warner manages to get both teams under control and wants to know who’s starting the match for each side; TORU immediately steps forward for TKO, while a discussion takes places in the Marvellous Corner. Bruner seems to be expecting to start but S.I.N. tugs on the big man’s shoulder and half-demands, half-begs to start off in order to get his hands on the opposition. Bruner looks at Sir Marvellous, who shrugs and motions him to let the smaller man at it; the bodyguard takes a moment to point menacingly at TORU, then swings one leg over the top rope and takes up position on the ring apron.

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

S.I.N. reacts as soon as he hears the bell go, ignoring any semblance of a wrestling style and just swaggering up to TORU, talkin’ smack as he goes. TORU just stands there looking at him blankly, then actually turns aside and calls referee Brian Warner over!

 

“What the hell’s this?” Mak asks in complete incomprehension.

 

“I… think he’s trying to get Warner to translate,” King says, muffling laughter, “I guess they don’t speak Ebonics in Saitama Prefecture…”

 

Warner, despite looking like the whitest white man in all of whitedom, is clearly still far more savvy than TORU and manages to convey the broad meanings of S.I.N.’s discourse to the puzzled Saitaman with the aid of some complicated mime. TORU’s eyes widen, then narrow, then widen again, and he turns back to S.I.N. who seems to be torn between laying a beating on his opponent and waiting until he understands the insults, then laying a beating on him. However it seems that TORU has picked up the gist and jabs a finger towards S.I.N.’s chest, performs an energetic three seconds of activity somewhere between a rabid gorilla and Ali G with as many ‘hand as gun’ motions as possible, then simply stands stock still with a palm extended towards S.I.N. while the Japanese Hammer looks quite firmly in the other direction.

 

“OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“Holy crap. ‘Talk to the hand’, indeed,” Mak says with his head in his own hands, “is this the SWF or Jerry Freakin’ Springer?”

 

“We need to elect TKO to the United Nations, now,” King splutters. “It’d be hilarious.”

 

“For half an hour. And then we’d have World War Three.”

 

S.I.N.’s had enough of his opponent and simply shoves TORU with both hands; the big Saitaman takes a step back but he’s rock-solid and comes back with a shove of his own that knocks the Puerto Rican backwards. S.I.N. steadies himself and shoves again; once more TORU comes back with yet another shove, then slaps himself on the chest a couple of times and roars, pointing to the ropes. S.I.N. looks around, then back at TORU, then runs for the cables and rebounds-

 

*Thunk*

 

-and both men go shoulder-to-shoulder with neither one going down! TORU smirks in S.I.N.’s face and makes a ‘shooing’ motion with one hand, telling the younger wrestler to try again; S.I.N. does so and explodes into the shoulderblock with more force this time…

 

*Thunk*

 

…but not enough to knock down TORU, who takes a step back but no more! S.I.N. points, demanding that TORU try next. The Japanese Hammer grins and runs for the ropes, rebounds off and slams hard into S.I.N…

 

*Thunk*

 

…who staggers back a step, but stays on his feet! TORU’s eyebrows raise slightly and the former Tag Champion nods slightly, perhaps re-evaluating his opponent. This time he holds his hand out slightly more courteously, inviting S.I.N. to try one more time off the ropes and see which of them is truly the better man. S.I.N. rolls his shoulders and turns to run for the cables…

 

…and TORU sticks out a foot, tripping the rookie and causing him to fall flat on his face.

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Some fans are booing TORU’s dishonourable ways, but rather more like seeing S.I.N. humiliated and voice their approval. TORU doesn’t waste any more time; instead he grabs S.I.N.’s leg and then tows his opponent towards the TKO corner, where KOJI reaches out and tags himself in off his partner’s shoulder before taking hold of the top rope in both hands and launching himself in with a slingshot senton. S.I.N. is being held in place by TORU so he cannot avoid KOJI’s move, which sees the long-haired wrestler come crashing down onto his back.

 

“Well, that’s enough horsing around,” King comments, “now it’s time to go to work. You’ve got to admit Mak, when TKO do decide to go to work they’re one of the best tag teams in the business.”

 

“I’ve got no arguments with that,” the Franchise replies, “I just wish they’d dispense with the run-up. And the cheating.”

 

“And Chris Card.”

 

KOJI pops back to his feet and fires a few stomps into S.I.N.’s upper back before pulling the bigger man upright. The wisdom of this course is quickly proven as Kitano grabs the winded Nunez by the neck and snapmares him back over into a sitting position before kicking him in the back of the head as hard as he can. KOJI then runs for the ropes and rebounds to land a basement dropkick into S.I.N.’s face, snapping him backwards to the canvas. The cruiserweight then scrambles atop his opponent and applies the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TW-

-which really wasn’t worth it, as S.I.N. throws KOJI off with some force and starts sitting up straight away. Kitano scrambles back and digs his fingers of both hands into S.I.N.’s eyes, causing the rookie to yell in pain and Brian Warner to start counting-

 

‘One!’

‘Two!’

‘Three!’

‘Four!’

‘Fi-’

 

-but KOJI lets go at the last moment, then hurries over to tag in TORU. S.I.N. has started to roll away towards where he knows his corner is, but KOJI quickly catches up with him, drops to the mat and wraps his legs around S.I.N.’s throat in a grounded head scissors. TORU climbs to the top rope as Brian Warner begins another five-count…

 

…but before he gets halfway through TORU comes off the top with a touch-your-toes Kaeru Frog Splash that sees him land square on top of S.I.N! KOJI rolls away and exits the ring as fast as he can, giving Warner no distractions as the ref slides in to make the count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but S.I.N. kicks out again, although not quite as quickly as before! TORU drags the Puerto Rican upright and goes to deliver a knee lift to the gut, but he’s too casual and S.I.N. gets his own knee up to block the blow before swinging a haymaker at TORU’s head that staggers the big Saitaman backwards! S.I.N. follows up with a couple more before slipping behind the suddenly-dazed Takahara and locking his arms around his opponent’s waist in preparation for a German suplex; TORU has no intention of being dumped on his head however and he manages to break S.I.N.’s grip before slipping behind him and grabbing his own rear waistlock. S.I.N. turns and grabs the ropes, bringing Warner in to try and make TORU break the hold; the former Tag Champion is as reluctant as ever to abide by the referee’s instructions, meaning Warner leans in to try and prise his arms loose… and as the official is unsighted, S.I.N. takes more direct action.

 

*CHING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, a mule kick is in the building,” King notes with some satisfaction as S.I.N.’s blind back kicks grounds itself firmly between TORU’s legs, “I’d give that an 8.4 personally. Mak?”

 

“I can’t decide if I’m happy about poetic justice for TORU refusing to break a hold yet again, or disgusted that no-one in this match is likely to stick to the rules,” the Franchise mutters.

 

TORU staggers backwards clutching at his crotch; Warner’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but he’s not about to call a DQ he didn’t see against a team as renowned for cheating as TKO in case it’s just a ruse. S.I.N. turns around and explodes forwards, delivering a powerful clothesline that takes TORU off his feet. He instantly starts to haul the big Saitaman up again, then scoops TORU off his feet and slams him back down with a bodyslam before jumping into the air and landing a legdrop across his opponent’s throat.

 

“That illegal move turned the tide of the match in S.I.N.’s favour, but can he properly capitalise?” Mak asks.

 

“Yes, he’s about to tag in Bruner,” King snorts as S.I.N. hauls TORU upright, applies an armwringer and drags the former Tag Champion over towards his corner. The young Bronx native reaches out his hand and gets the tag from Bruner, but TORU has come to his senses and manages to wrench his arm out of S.I.N.’s grip before hurrying across the ring and tagging KOJI in.

 

“Uh, I think we have something of a mismatch here,” Mak notes with mild amusement as KOJI looks across the ring at the monster stepping over the ropes, then back at his tag team partner. TORU points at Kitano, then at Bruner and barks something in Japanese; KOJI sighs, leaps in over the top rope and starts to approach his massive opponent.

 

“LET’S GO KO-JI!”

 

“LET’S GO BRU-NER!”

 

Unbelievably, warring chants have set up around the First Mariner Arena as the fans declare their support for the wrestler they presumably hate the least. KOJI flicks his long hair back with one hand, then flips his opponent the double bird, then slaps himself on the chest and roars!

 

“He’s not…” King says in disbelief.

 

Oh, but he is. KOJI points at the ropes, demanding that Bruner bounce off them and engage in a shoulderblock contest! Bruner just looks at the Japanese cruiserweight with an expression as close to disbelief as can be read behind his shades, so seeing that he isn’t having any success with his challenge KOJI turns and runs the ropes himself. He rebounds and accelerates, leaps into the air with a flying shoulder tackle…

 

…and bounces off, falling to the canvas as Bruner fails to move so much as an inch.

 

“Yeah, because that’s going to work against a guy a foot taller than you and twice your weight,” Mak says.

 

KOJI gets back up before Bruner can take advantage of his position, then slaps himself in the chest again and runs for a different set of ropes (because maybe that’ll help). He accelerates off, leaps into the air-

 

*BANG!*

 

-and gets caught and spinebustered with little apparent effort but a great deal of apparent force!

 

“BRU-NER! BRU-NER! BRU-NER!”

 

Tracey Bruner drops to one knee and leans forward, covering KOJI by the simple expedient of placing one massive hand on his opponent’s chest.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but KOJI kicks out! This doesn’t really help him much though, as Bruner takes hold of him and hauls him upright, then swings his right arm for a lariat that would have taken KOJI’s head off if the smaller man hadn’t ducked at the last moment. KOJI runs for the ropes again as Bruner turns to try and keep his opponent in his sights; this time Kitano doesn’t go for anything as stupid as a flying shoulderblock, instead leaving his feet to deliver a basement dropkick into Bruner’s knee. The bodyguard staggers back a step but is still on his feet, so KOJI gets back up and runs for the ropes yet again. Bruner lifts one massive boot up to try and connect with Kitano’s head but KOJI rolls clean underneath, pops back up and heads on for the far ropes before rebounding off. Bruner is starting to get left behind by KOJI’s pace and turns around to find the cruiserweight already skidding between his legs in a baseball slide; the big man turns once more, but KOJI is up to his feet and delivers another basement dropkick as Bruner is still twisting around. The impact combined with the turn knocks Bruner off-balance and the big man staggers into the ropes, holding onto them for support, which gives KOJI enough time to dash across the ring and tag TORU in!

 

“LET’S GO BRU-NER!”

 

“LET’S GO TO-RU!”

 

Tracey Bruner turns towards the TKO corner, but he’s forgotten to take into consideration the fact that for all his size, the larger half of the Japanese tag team is still surprisingly sprightly. TORU leaps up to the top rope and springboards off, delivering a massive flying shouldertackle that sends Bruner staggering backwards for real; the big man ends up in the ropes, tries to grab them for support but loses his footing and ends up in a sitting position, arms entangled in the cables ala a certain famous French giant.

 

“And suddenly things have turned back into TKO’s favour!” Mak says, “Bruner can’t defend himself!”

 

“Yeah, and if they keep hitting him for ten minutes they might actually hurt him,” King snorts.

 

TORU has no intention of taking that long; the big Saitaman gets up and, with Brian Warner yelling at him to hold off while he tries to disentangle Bruner from the ropes, rebounds off the far set of cables and hurtles across the ring to sink a running kneelift into Bruner’s fairly generous gut! Tracey Bruner gasps for air and TORU takes a moment to snatch the shades from his opponent’s head, lanyard and all, then puts him on his own head and turns to run for the far ropes again. He rebounds with even more speed but the result is the same; a running kneelift to Bruner’s sternum with enough force to this time expel some spittle from the super-heavyweight’s mouth.

 

“LET’S GO TO-RU!”

 

Takahara turns and sets off again, but S.I.N. has seen enough and the rookie runs around the apron, swinging around the ringpost as he goes, then sets to work freeing the other arm of Bruner. S.I.N. is rather stronger than Warner and manages to prise Bruner’s limb loose, and as TORU returns across the ring-

 

‘Urk!’

 

-Bruner simply reaches out and grabs him around the throat! With one arm now free it’s a simple matter for the big man to extricate the other from the ropes and he gets up as TORU grabs desperately at the massive hand goozling him. Warner is shouting about a chokehold but Bruner delays long enough to reclaim his shades from TORU’s head with his free hand, then hoists the former Tag Champion into the air and drives him down to the mat!

 

*BANG!*

 

Bruner takes a moment to resettle his shades on his head before cocking one elbow and dropping to the mat, driving the point into TORU’s chest and then simply laying across his opponent for the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…TORU kicks out, but it’s clear that the bigger half of TKO doesn’t have a lot of breath left in him as he rolls onto his side, chest heaving. Bruner snorts his opinion of Warner’s count and starts to get back to his feet.

 

“If TKO are going to have any hope of winning this match, they need to neutralise Tracey Bruner as soon as possible,” Mak comments. “TORU’s tough as nails, but a few more shots like that and he won’t be kicking out anymore.”

 

Bruner bends down and hauls TORU back up to his feet, then hoists his opponent up onto his shoulder in a powerslam position. He walks towards his corner where S.I.N. is waiting, then simply throws TORU off to send the Saitaman’s face crashing into the top buckle with a Snake Eyes. TORU staggers back, allowing Bruner to measure him before delivering a backfist that knocks him straight to the floor! Bruner then reaches out and tags S.I.N., who starts climbing the turnbuckles.

 

“S.I.N. going airborne here, perhaps taking a page out of TORU’s book,” Mak says.

 

“Can he read Kanji?” King asks in surprise.

 

“Don’t be a wiseass.”

 

S.I.N. comes off the top with the Blood Moon fistdrop that connects square with TORU’s forehead and sends the man from the Orient rolling away across the mat, clutching at his face. S.I.N. follows up with a couple of stomps, then drags TORU up to his feet and Irish whips his opponent into a neutral corner. TORU hits hard and S.I.N. swaggers up to him, then pastes him across the face with slap.

 

*SMACK*

 

‘Who you!?’

 

*SMACK*

 

‘Huh, bitch?’

 

*SMACK*

 

‘Who you!?’

 

TORU doesn’t seem to have the wherewithal to respond, so S.I.N. leans down, grabs the middle rope in both hands and drives his shoulder into his opponent’s gut four or five times in quick succession. He then hauls TORU out of the corner and Irish whips the big Saitaman into the ropes; TORU rebounds and S.I.N. sidesteps, swinging his hands up to secure a full nelson and bring his opponent to a halt, then hoisting TORU up and driving him facefirst into the mat!

 

*BANG!*

 

“That’s the ‘Lust’,” Mak calls as S.I.N. rolls his opponent onto his back, “and that’s the cover!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but TORU kicks out! S.I.N. seems to be asking Brian Warner why he counted so slow but the referee is adamant that his sense of timing is fine, so the Puerto Rican tells him where he can shove his two-count and starts pulling TORU back up to his feet again. This time the rookie bends over and places his head between TORU’s legs before straightening up, hoisting the big Saitaman off the ground and turning him upside down…

 

“Uh-oh, I think this could be the Pride,” Mak says…

 

*WHAM!*

 

…sure enough, S.I.N. drops to his knees and drives TORU’s head into the mat, then covers his opponent and barks for Warner to make the count. The referee dives to the mat…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but TORU kicks out!

 

‘You shittin’ me!?’

 

“S.I.N. doesn’t seem impressed with that count,” King remarks.

 

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Mak asks dryly. “Still, I think he’s looking to leave an impression on TORU…”

 

The rookie gets back up to his feet, haranguing the referee as he does so, then makes a throat-cutting gesture and drops into a half-crouch, poised to leap into action. TORU, dazed but still conscious, starts to rise to his feet and S.I.N. waits…

 

…waits…

 

…then darts forward and grabs his opponent with a ¾ facelock, twisting around as he does so to drop into a cutter - only for TORU to shove him away at the last moment, breaking his grip! S.I.N. turns back towards his opponent with malice aforethought, but TORU reacts with the speed borne of desperation and drive two quick left-footed kicks into his opponent’s ribs. S.I.N. staggers, momentarily winded, and TORU lines up for something else; the right-footed roundhouse kick he launches at S.I.N.’s head is powerful but not quite quick enough, as S.I.N. is able to duck it, but the rookie fails to avoid the follow-through as TORU’s momentum takes him around in a full circle and allows him to extend two fingers and poke S.I.N. in the eyes!

 

‘Yaargh!’

 

“If at first you don’t succeed, cheat,” King says with some satisfaction.

 

TORU shakes his head, the dizziness from the Pride starting to dissipate and leaving him facing a blinded opponent. Clearly the Saitaman has some issues he wishes to address because he steps forward and starts launching open-handed slaps and yelling in mangled but recognisable English.

 

‘Who ME?’

 

*SMACK*

 

‘I-’

 

*SMACK*

 

‘-AM-’

 

*SMACK*

 

‘-TORU!’

 

*SMACK*

 

TORU takes a deep breath, grabs S.I.N.’s head in both hands and drags it down to meet his knee on the way up…

 

‘Who YOU!?’

 

*CRACK!*

 

S.I.N. starts to slump, but TORU grabs him and supports his opponent’s weight, then scoops the rookie up and holds him horizontally across his chest. The former Tag Champion steps around until he’s facing Tracey Bruner, then yells - in effort this time - and performs a standing moonsault to crush S.I.N. against the mat!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but S.I.N. kicks out!

 

“Wow!” Mak Francis exclaims, “I’ve never seen TORU hit the Blockbuster Slam on someone that big before!”

 

“OK, that was impressive,” King concedes.

 

Impressive it might have been, but also slightly unwise given the battering TORU has been taking; the big man is clearly the worse for wear after the sudden exertion and simply rolls to his corner to tag in KOJI, who leaps over the top rope to re-enter the fray. The cruiserweight grabs S.I.N. by the head and starts to pull him up, then delivers a spinning back kick to the gut that doubles the rookie over and leaves him gasping for air. This gives KOJI the time to climb to the top rope, flip Tracey Bruner the double bird and leap off…

 

*BANG!*

 

…but S.I.N. moves away at the last moment, and KOJI crashes and burns!

 

“I think KOJI was going for that top rope flipping neckbreaker he sometimes uses, but S.I.N. had him scouted,” Mak comments. S.I.N. wastes no time in following up, as the man from the Bronx drags the gasping Kitano upright, then hoists him up over his shoulders in an inverted crucifix position.

 

“This can’t be good,” King says.

 

S.I.N. gathers himself, yells and hurls KOJI forwards; the cruiserweight flies gracefully but lands badly, coming down hard on his face and chest.

 

“Yup, I knew that wouldn’t be good,” the Gambling Man confirms. “He calls that Anger, and it’s easy to see why.”

 

“Do you want to tell him that the Deadly Sin is actually called Wrath?” Mak asks.

 

“Hush, no.”

 

S.I.N. stomps rather wearily over and tags in Tracey Bruner, who swings his legs over the top rope one at a time and approaches the prone KOJI. The bodyguard simply rolls his opponent over with the toe of his shoe, then places one massive foot on the cruiserweight’s chest and barks for Warner to make a count!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-

-but KOJI kicks out! Bruner takes the news stoically and reaches down to drag KOJI back up to his feet before simply lifting the smaller man up and holding him horizontally above his head! Once there, Bruner starts pressing him…

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

“THREE!”

 

“FOUR!”

 

“FIVE!”

 

“SIX!”

 

“Sesame Street was brought to you today by the letters ‘S’, ‘I’ and ‘N’ and the number… whatever Bruner gets to.”

 

“King…”

 

“SEVEN!”

 

“EIGHT!”

 

Tracey Bruner finally gets bored of giving the crowd counting practice and simply throws KOJI up into the air and steps forward, anticipating the impact of flesh on canvas behind him. Fortunately for KOJI he still has enough balance and awareness left to land on his feet, and before Bruner can register this fact and turn around the small Saitaman leaps upwards to wrap one arm around his opponent’s windpipe!

 

“Sleeperhold!” Mak calls.

 

“Choke!” King calls, rather more accurately. Bruner isn’t exactly gasping for air but the big man is certainly discomforted and alarmed by this turn of events, and his mood isn’t helped much when KOJI manages to rip his shades from his head and hurl them into the crowd. However, the size difference is just too great for KOJI to get a truly debilitating grip quickly enough to prevent Bruner from taking action, which he does by running backwards towards the turnbuckles.

 

*BANG!*

 

KOJI’s grip suddenly slackens as the smaller man is crushed against the pads by his opponent’s huge bulk, and as Bruner walks away it’s clearly all the former Tag Champion can do to stay upright. Bruner clearly decides that what worked once will work again, and after casting a frustrated glance around to see if his shades are anywhere nearby he thunders in towards KOJI, clearly intent on reducing him to something the consistency of wasabi. He’s a shade too slow however, as Kitano manages to duck out through the ropes and leaves Bruner to slam chest-first into the buckles, then gouges at his eyes to send the bodyguard reeling away clutching at his face. KOJI hastily climbs back through the ropes and half-runs, half-staggers to his corner where he tags TORU back in!

 

“LET’S GO TO-RU!”

 

Both members of TKO start to climb, perching precariously on the top rope for a moment and using each other to steady themselves, then as Bruner comes within range they leap off to connect with a double flying shouldertackle… and knock him down!

 

*WHAM!*

 

“TIIIIIIIIIIIIIM-BERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!” King yells.

 

Bruner starts to get back up almost immediately, but he’s on the back foot now. TORU runs one way and KOJI the other, both men bounce off the ropes and as the big man reaches a vertical base again he’s hit simultaneously; KOJI delivers a basement dropkick from behind while TORU nails a jumping lariat from the front, sending the big man down again!

 

*WHAM!*

 

KOJI gets back up and runs straight over to where S.I.N. looks on, delivering a dropkick that catches the startled rookie in the face and knocks him to the floor of the arena, before both members of TKO start to climb again - this time on opposite turnbuckles. KOJI comes off first with a somersault double knee drop to the chest, before TORU leaps from the other corner to drop the TORU Hammer on Bruner’s head! TORU then scoots into a cover as KOJI takes a suicide dive to the outside into S.I.N…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“He kicked out!” Mak shouts.

 

“He’s too tough!” King shouts back, “what’s TORU got that can put him away? He can’t lift him!”

 

TORU fires a glare at Brian Warner, who protests that yes, Bruner kicked out in time, but then sees Sir Marvellous aiming a cane shot at the back of KOJI and scrambles over to yell at the agent-turned-manager. Takahara starts trying to bring Bruner up to his feet…

 

…and Bruner slams one massive arm up between TORU’s legs in a low blow.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

TORU’s legs give out and he drops; Bruner is wobbly but manages to drag his opponent into a standing headscissors, then heaves upwards…

 

*BANG!*

 

The powerbomb shakes the ring and leaves Bruner breathing heavily while TORU is spread-eagled on the mat. Warner looks around but sees he doesn’t need to make the count just yet, then turns back to yell at KOJI not to attack Sir Marvellous (who’s backing away) while S.I.N. tries to pick himself up. Warner looks back around again, only to see Bruner standing up and walking towards the ringpost!

 

“He’s going up!” King shouts, “if he hits this we’re going to need paramedics out here!”

 

Sure enough Bruner is climbing (slowly) towards the second rope. Meanwhile there is a disturbance at ringside…

 

“That’s Chris Card!” Mak shouts as a long-haired figure runs down through the crowd and throws KOJI his signature black steel pipe whilst pointing at Bruner. KOJI turns and runs around the ring, holding his newly-gained weapon low; meanwhile Card hurdles the barrier and charges towards Sir Marvellous, who yells in alarm. Warner hears and turns around, sees Card and starts yelling at him, causing Technical Perfection to stop and start making counter-accusations about Sir Marvellous…

 

…with Warner distracted Natasha removes the Aerosol Equalizer from her purse and maces S.I.N. with it to keep him out of the game…

 

…and KOJI leaps up to the ring apron, runs along to where Bruner is now seated on the top rope and swings the steel pipe with all his might.

 

*CRACK!*

 

The blow might have knocked Bruner cold; whatever, it’s enough to send the big man toppling forward and landing on the canvas with an almighty crash. KOJI instantly drops his incriminating weapon and hops into the ring where he drags TORU on top of Bruner and whistles to attract Brian Warner’s attention…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms over a mixture of cheers and boos, “here are your winners… TEEEEEE! KAYYYYY! OOOHHHHHH!!”

 

“TKO pick up yet another tag victory, although only through their usual dubious tactics,” Mak Francis states. “Then again their opponents weren’t exactly squeaky clean either, so I guess maybe all’s fair when no-one plays fair?”

 

“TKO were the better cheaters on the day, and even Card didn’t mess up too badly,” King nods. “I think VDN had better start looking over their shoulders.”

 

“You’re assuming Va’aiga can move his head freely yet,” Mak reminds his partner, “and I think he’ll have business to take care of before he defends the Tag Titles…”

 

TKO have exited the ring and are now swaggering up the ramp, all smiles and laughter as in the ring, Sir Marvellous checks on Bruner while S.I.N. tries to wipe his eyes clean of the pepper spray.

 

“I don’t think this one’s over between these two teams,” Mak says, “but TKO won this round. Up next, our new World Champion the Insane Luchador takes on ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins!”

 

 

 

 

FADE OUT

 

Edited May 15, 2008 by Toxxic

[Toxxic 0]

“Welcome back! Well, King, it is time to see our newly crowned World Champion square off against the always dangerous, recently returned Spike Jenkins! This is a non-title match but a win for Spike makes him an instant contender while a win for IL keeps his hot streak that’s scorching the competition!” Mak says to his partner’s groan.

 

“Yeah, maybe Spike can prove our World Champion IL just happened to have the match of a lifetime,” King replies.

 

“Our World Champion, Insane Luchador… how does that sound to you, King?” Mak taunts his partner, who is obviously not a faithful Luchadorian.

 

“Sounds like the end of the wrestling industry as we know it,” King solemnly says. “Michael Alexander was a great World Champion, a person that could proudly be the face of our company. Now think of what face that is, a psychotic, hack of a wrestler who has had a cute little streak thanks to hardcore match after hardcore match. He’s not World Championship caliber.”

 

“King, that’s an insult to Va’aiga, S.I.N., Jakey, MANSON, and Michael Alexander, the former champion himself,” Mak points out. “Luchador suddenly broke the slump he was in and five extraordinary matches later he is the World Champion!”

 

“What slump? Oh, you mean that whole ‘seven year slump?’” King jeers. “So IL is actually winning, sure it’s shocking, but does that warrant a title shot?”

 

“That doesn’t matter, King, because it did warrant a title shot, one that he won. We have officially entered the Age of the Ill One, King, and you better get used to it because Luchador isn’t going anywhere!”

 

“Yeah, I know he won’t go anywhere, the smart money says that it’ll be IL and cockroaches left in these arenas if an atomic bomb hit.”

 

Suddenly the lights begin to flicker in the arena, “Scapegoat” by The Agony’s Scene begins to blast, instantly inciting the crowd to jeer at the arrival of Spike Jenkins, and it’s followed by the lyrics-

 

Abandon, broken and bleeding.

A feast for their eyes, a spectacle.

A martyr of the forsaken.

A scapegoat for their suffering.

 

“Spike Jenkins was able to return with a victory against S.I.N.,” Mak says. “It was an insanely close match that took Spike desperately hitting his Super Ego Trip to win.”

 

Now red lights take over, highlighting the top of the entrance ramp, and the song continuing-

 

Burn Me Alive…

 

GRRRRR…

 

“I’m not Jenkins’ biggest fan but I hope he’ll prove Luchador isn’t a worthy World Champion,” King says.

 

BURN ME ALIVE!

 

I FEEL THE HATRED BEHIND THEIR EYES!

BURN ME ALIVE!

IN EAGER CIRCLES TO WATCH ME DIE!

BURN ME!

 

“There are a lot of fans who would eagerly circle around to see him die,” King muses in response to the lyrics.

 

Another round of jeers hit the ring because Spike Jenkins steps out into the light with his trademark black zip-up sweatshirt, a concentrated look of determination in his eyes that breaks down into a cocky smirk at the crowd’s reaction, and he begins to head down towards the ring.

 

“Introducing… from Long Island, New York- weighing in at 205 pounds… ‘HOLLYWOOD’ SSSPPPIIIKKKEE JJJJEEENNNKKKIIINNSSS!”

 

“Spike Jenkins looks confident,” Mak says. “I think he has a reason to be but I have to admit, I’m not sure what his game plan should be.”

 

“Really?” King asks. “Because I figured winning would be a fantastic start.”

 

Jenkins hits ringside and slowly climbs up the stairs onto the ring apron, stripping himself of the black sweatshirt, and proudly waving his middle finger around for all to see. Once he’s had his fill of that, which doesn’t take too long, he leaps over the top rope and finally hitting to the center of the ring. The lights return to normal and Spike just remains fixed on the entrance ramp while the crowd dies down.

 

“Cute,” Mak curtly replies before continuing to say, “I know that Spike is a great striker, he is now well versed in mixed martial arts, but the Ill One has had recent displays of great striking skills. I’m not even just talking about just brawling, IL has cleaned up his striking while keeping those brawler instincts to go for blood.”

 

The hush over the arena continues as the announcer’s continue their analysis, leaving Spike, the fans, and even Kivell impatient for the Champion’s arrival.

 

“Maybe IL ran away,” King snickers.

 

“Unlikely.”

 

“If striking is an issue then Spike can put Luchador on the ground and submit him,” King says. “It’s rare that Luchador taps but he did at Hell Freezes Over…”

 

“To continue a match that he later won,” Mak interjects. “But Luchador has also shown to be good at taking things back up onto his feet, which may or may not help him, although IL has the speed.”

 

Finally the two loud drumbeats practically pulsate, followed by the grinding guitar, and a slow, unsettling chant beginning that cues the fans’ loud cheers.

 

Aaahhhh-aaaahh-ah…

 

“And here comes our World Champion,” Mak exclaims over the cheering fans.

 

Aaaaahhh-aaahhh-aaahh-ah-ah

 

Two streams of red and black pyrotechnics burst off by the entrance ramp, “Man in the Box” kicking into the main song and suddenly Insane Luchador leaps through the backstage and looking ecstatic. He has the title belt slung over his shoulder and he pauses before grabbing the title, his time throwing his arms with the title hoisted up into the air to an even louder cheer. He keeps holding it up, really letting the image soak in, before gently putting it back over his shoulder, his eyes now on the ring, and he makes his way down while extending his hands for crowd support.

 

“Introducing... from Easton, Pennsylvania weighing in at 225 pounds… he is YOUR S-W-F WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… YOUR PSYCHOTIC HERO, IIIIIINNNSSSSAAAANNNEEEE LLLUUCCCHHHAAADDDOOOOR!”

 

IL picks up his speed, grabbing onto his title with one hand, and slides into the ring. He stands up, walks up to Spike, and tauntingly raises the belt into the air, leaving Jenkins briefly looking up at it. Luchador shakes his head to the crowd’s support before Spike Jenkins shoves the Ill One, causing Kivell to boldly stand between the two, shoving them apart with a sigh. IL hands over the title as Kivell brings it over to the stagehand, quickly turning around, and looks at both competitors, glaring at each other. He signals for the bell and they clash in center of the ring!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

IL fires off a leg kick that Spike ignores, firing off a hard elbow that knocks Luchador off balance. Jenkins steps forward, clutches the back of Luchador’s head, and pulls it in while cocking his arm, exploding with a hard elbow strike to his vulnerable forehead! Luchador begins to muscle his way free from Jenkins’ grip but only pays for it with another elbow into Luchador’s forehead, looking ready to burst at any given moment, and Mak points that out-

 

“Jenkins is smart in targeting Luchador’s weak forehead, especially after his brutal last match.”

 

“Luchador will probably be the first guy I know whose face has turned entirely scar tissue,” King predicts.

 

IL, also as aware (if not more so) of his oh-so ripe for a wreckin’ forehead, and he sends out a front toe kick that connects, leaving Spike to let free of him. He moves forward with an open palm straight into Spike’s chest, nearly knocking him off his feet, but when he goes to reengage he’s met with a dropkick! They scramble back up with Luchador launching another front toe kick but it’s caught by Spike, who makes quick work to use it for a single leg takedown. Luchador tries his best to contain Spike in his guard but Hollywood makes quick work of the attempt, passing by it, and now over Luchador, raining down elbows! The World Champion wisely shields his face from Spike’s elbows, waiting for a pause, which finally occurs, and he wraps his arms around Spike’s waist, turning them over. He stuns Hollywood with a quick elbow but instantly scrambles back up onto his feet while Spike Jenkins pushes himself off, gesturing IL to bring it on, and insulting his weak ground game. Luchador begins to dash in but Spike launches out a palm strike, smacking with enough force that nearly drops IL to the canvas, and so he follows it up with yet another accurate palm strike, hitting him underneath his chin. IL continues to stagger backwards and Jenkins quickly throws a hard spinning backfist that connects and sends the World Champion back. Jenkins suddenly turns his back to Luchador and before he can even react Spike has leapt into the air, smacking him with the Pelle Kick! IL reels back into the corner, slumping against the turnbuckle, and the ruthless Jenkins charges hard, throwing his leg up, and plastering him with a Yakuza kick! He sways forward when Jenkins cockily pushes him back into the corner with one hand as the crowd begins to break into jeers as he throws a hard kick to his ribs!

 

“It looks like Spike Jenkins is getting the better of Insane Luchador in this exchange!” Mak exclaims, watching Spike throw yet another punishing kick to Luchador’s ribs.

 

“Jenkins is mauling our World Champion and that’s why I’m still bitter over IL’s win, Alexander is still light-years a better wrestler,” King says.

 

“I can’t agree with that statement but there’s no doubt that Jenkins is making a strong showing here,” Mak replies.

 

He throws yet another kick to Luchador’s chest, the Ill One still not mounting an offense, and another aimed at the stomach, doubling him over. He takes a step back before he suddenly comes back at him, spinning, and nailing Luchador with a roaring elbow!

 

“He has Luchador trapped in a corner, literally,” King says with a chuckle. “He better have a response to Spike’s offense or this one could end early.”

 

Jenkins grabs Luchador by the back of his head, taunting the World Champion, and lazily tosses him down to the canvas that he crumbles against. Spike scales up to the top turnbuckle and flips off the crowd before leaping off of the turnbuckle with the classic double stomp but IL is luckily able to roll out of the way right before Spike hits the canvas. Thankfully for Spike the simplicity of the move simply leaves him feeling like he took an extra step at the bottom of the stairs, completely unfazed, while IL instinctively rolls away. He stalks Luchador and catches up with a stomp to his back, flattening him against the canvas, and Spike throws a hard kick to the side of his face! Luchador groans, now truly going for a rare retreat, and he’s able to slip to the outside, mostly because Spike’s overwhelmingly amusement at Luchador’s response. Spike walks over to the ropes, watching Luchador sling an arm over the guardrail for support, and he slides to the outside, not willing to risk taking flight on the beaten Luchador.

 

“This one goes to the outside where Luchador may have a chance to rally,” Mak says.

 

He walks over to Luchador, grabbing him to pull him up, but he gets a hard shot to his gut, doubling him over, and IL desperately shoots in, taking Spike down in a rare double leg takedown that catches him off guard. IL doesn’t want to go hold-for-hold, even on the outside, and he rolls backwards, up onto his feet, and it becomes clear it was an opportunity to recover. Spike rolls onto a knee, shaking his head at Luchador, and he stands up while Kivell gives the last futile plea of reentering the ring-

 

“ONE!” Luchador runs at Spike, looking ready to collide with an elbow he already has bent, when instead he suddenly leaps onto the ring apron, running along it, and takes Spike down with an unexpected flying crossbody to a roar from the fans.

 

“TWO!” IL, instead of standing up lies on top of Jenkins, treating his body position as an MMA “half-guard,” and then he lifts up an elbow before dropping it down onto Spike’s face. Mak easily recognizes the technique and watches Luchador drop yet another while Spike begins to push IL off.

 

“THREE!” “Those elbows may seem at close range…”

 

“FOUR!” Spike slips free, scrambling up and beating IL to his feet, knees his opponent.

 

“But they are like getting clubbed with pure bone,” Mak finishes while the count hits six and continues-

 

“SEVEN!” He finally pushes Luchador off of him, rolling onto his feet, and gingerly rubbing at his forehead while IL stands with some choice words to taunt Hollywood.

 

“EIGHT!” Spike is hardly afraid to brawl with Luchador on the outside but finds the chance of giving IL a chance to come back rather unappealing, so he simply slides into the ring. Luchador sighs and slowly slides back into the ring himself while the crowd begins to boo Jenkins who awaits IL while flipping him off.

 

“Spike was very smart to neutralize Luchador’s chance to use the outside to his advantage,” Mak points out. “He very well could hold his own but it’s not worth the potential risk of Luchador getting the advantage.”

 

The crowd’s jeering continues while IL pushes himself up to his feet but Spike is already back up, blazing forward in a charge at Luchador, and he lunges at him with a jumping Yakuza Kick that sails right by the Ill One! Luchador, barely having time to stand erect and sidestep the move, watches Jenkins awkwardly land and the momentum carries him into the ring ropes but he saves himself by grabbing the top rope. IL, on the other hand, finds the option of another meeting outside the ring as quite appealing and it’s proven by his charge that lets him leap up with a dropkick that dumps Jenkins back onto the outside! Luchador stands by the ropes, looking down at the dazed Hollywood, and he begins to charge at the ropes behind him while his opponent gets onto one knee.

 

“Luchador’s going to take flight,” Mak states the obvious as Luchador barrels back.

 

Jenkins, looking up into the ring, suddenly rolls to his side while Luchador hits the ropes in evasion but IL wisely grabbing them to kill his charge instead of leaping out to hit nobody. Jenkins, unaware of Luchador not taking flight, cockily stands up when he realizes Luchador’s absence on the outside, a wave of panic crashing over him. The Ill One hops onto the top rope and leaps off with a flying clothesline that is dead-on, nearly decapitating Spike, and both men smack against the thinly padded cement.

 

“A huge flying clothesline from Luchador here and this may change the pace of things,” Mak excitedly says.

 

“Luchador’s got another shot at Spike here,” King says. “That’s probably not the smartest idea but intelligent wrestling hasn’t ever seemed to his strength, it may actually be one of his biggest weaknesses.”

 

“Well, I think you’re giving Luchador little credit but he can be somewhat short sighted since he has been consistently beaten by Spike and the last thing he needs is Jenkins’ having an advantage outside the ring,” Mak replies in slight agreement.

 

Luchador gets up to his feet, kicking at Jenkins on the ground, and smirks to the crowd’s loud cheers. Yet another count begins-

 

“ONE!” He reaches down, grabbing at his blonde hair, and yanks him up to his feet, keeping him dazed with an elbow. IL glances over at the ring post to his side and he holds Jenkins by the back of his head.

 

“TWO!” He shakes his head at his opponent before heaving Jenkins’ head first into the ring post, sending him staggering back in a daze.

 

“THREE!” IL chases after him, ducking underneath a wild high kick from the stunned Spike, and he connects with a front toe kick. He grabs Spike around his neck with the front headlock and wastes no time in dropping, sending Spike’s head to bounce off the thinly padded mat with a hollow thud thanks to the DDT!

 

“FOUR!” Luchador stands back up, throws his arms into the air high to gather more support, but focuses back on his opponent.

 

“FIVE!” Spike momentarily clutches his head but forces himself to push back up onto all fours, trying to get up, in an effort so inspiring that IL helps him out, pulling him to his feet.

 

“SIX!” Unfortunately, charity has never been a quality even associated with Luchador and so it isn’t surprising when he tosses Spike back first against the guardrail.

 

“SEVEN!” Luchador charges forward and his time throws his own Yakuza Kick, to an explosion from the crowd, but the wily Spike dodges the blow, leaving Luchador’s leg to awkwardly hang over the guardrail.

 

“EIGHT!” IL, despite being in pain, grabs his leg, pulling it up, and heads back into the ring. Spike, meanwhile, gets onto both knees before standing back up.

 

“NINE!” Spike shakes his head before he quickly dives back into the ring, only to have IL ambush him with stomps.

 

“That was a close call for Spike and obviously that exchange didn’t go his way,” Mak says. “Luchador got the jump on him and was able to keep control, just like he’s controlling Spike with those repeated stomps!”

 

Luchador, indeed, repeatedly stomps on Spike’s back, peppering in shots to the back of the head, before he reaches down. He grabs an arm of Spike, yanking him to his feet, and uses that arm to pull him forward into a hard elbow. Luchador follows up with an insanely quick schoolboy roll up and he leans his weight against Spike-

 

“ONE!”

 

“This won’t do it,” Mak says.

 

“TWO!” Spike breaks the pin, audibly hurling vulgar words at Luchador, and the Ill One simply stands up as if nothing has happened.

 

“Is our World Champion getting desperate?” King tauntingly asks.

 

“I think he saw an opportunity,” Mak defends. “I also think it was too premature to try a roll up against Jenkins, he’d have to really catch him off guard to have gotten the pin.”

 

Luchador starts to bend over to control his opponent but an up kick whizzes past his head, causing him to abandon that plan, and he backs away before cockily inviting him to stand back up. Spike growls in anger and Luchador admirably remains true to his words, waiting for Jenkins to get onto his feet before charging at him, only to have Spike break into a charge as well! Each man approaches the other and leaps into the air with a pointless dropkick duel, neither man connecting, and they’re forced to race back up to their feet. Luchador tries to kick Spike in the leg but Hollywood checks it with his shin before firing back his own chopping leg kick. Both men suddenly grab at each other in a grapple, each man wrapping their hands around the back of the opponent’s head, and they both clinch the other in the classic Muay Thai clinch that creates a cheer from the crowd, partially in favor of IL and partially because it’s an even match up.

 

“It was inevitable that these two would try this,” Mak says. “Luchador has some nasty, nasty knee strikes but Spike is well versed in MMA, where knowing and controlling the Muay Thai clinch is a necessity.”

 

IL launches off the first knee into Spike’s ribs, creating louder cheers, and even hits one to Jenkins’ thigh only to have no reply from his opponent. He gets ready to throw another knee when Spike suddenly brings up a blow suspiciously close to Luchador’s groin but Kivell’s view is limited while they struggle with the clinch, letting IL’s squeal of protest go unheard. Spike uses it as an opponent to slip his arm free to deliver a hard European Uppercut, causing IL to nearly drop, but he keeps the hold, obviously now in control. Spike throws up a harsh knee to the ribs, followed by another, and he even throws in an elbow strike. He draws back, creating more space, and literally leaps forward in the clinch with a knee that smacks him against the chest! Jenkins still holds the limp Luchador in his hands and slowly starts to head down onto the mat, ever-so-gently and condescendingly lays IL down, loving the crowd’s loud jeers, and he cockily covers-

 

“Pin attempt!”

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!” Luchador breaks free and is obviously pissed off as he comes back to, and Spike only laughs at the slightly disoriented Luchador who stands up with a groan. But not only is Spike an asshole, enjoying Luchador’s pain, but he also has a fierce competitive streak, so he bulls towards him. He doesn’t even attack Luchador but instead quickly gets behind him, followed by a stomp to the back of his knee, and locks in the full nelson before lifting him up, dropping down onto a knee, and he sends Luchador’s back awkwardly crashing against his knees. Luchador rolls off of Spike’s knee onto his back against the canvas in hopes of recollecting himself but the ruthless Spike reaches down to continue his assault on the World Champion. But, luckily for the Ill One, it’s really, really easy to do a jawbreaker and that’s exactly what he does for a counter, causing Spike to stumble back while rubbing his chin. He stops himself from stumbling too far, treating the jawbreaker like nothing, and he leaps out with a spinning back kick right into Luchador’s gut! He doubles over and Jenkins prematurely laughs while securing the standing headscissors, grabbing an arm into the underhook, and now the laughter becomes clear due to an eruption of jeers hurled his way since Jenkins is obviously going for the pedigree, the Endwell! Spike goes to grab the other arm, which is feebly punching Spike in the thigh, when suddenly Luchador slips his trapped arm free, straightening up, and dumping Jenkins over with a backbody drop before the Endwell can even be executed.

 

“Luchador is able to counter the Endwell and he’s lucky because that has led to many victories for Spike Jenkins,” Mak says.

 

Spike rolls onto his feet but Luchador’s already smothering him with overhand rights, ditching the technical aspect of striking and opting for a short burst of brawling that feels more fitting. The only problem is Spike easily dodges the punch, dropping down onto a knee on the canvas, grabbing the back of Luchador’s head and inner thigh, lifting him onto his shoulders, and standing up with the standing fireman’s carry. Luchador sends short elbows flying back that bounce of Spike’s skull but it’s futile because Hollywood drops him in front of him while dropping to the canvas, his knees conveniently placed to nail a painful double knee gut buster! He flips Luchador over and starts to go for the pin before changing his mind, tauntingly lifting Luchador’s arm off the canvas for him, when IL suddenly tears his arm free, pushing himself back onto his feet with fire in his eyes. But Spike remains cool, more amused by Luchador’s glare than anything else, and he smartly lunges out with a front toe kick, furthering punishing Luchador’s already aching stomach, and causing the dreaded involuntary doubling over. Jenkins grabs the back of Luchador’s head, reflecting over his still beaten forehead from his World Title match, and decides to lift a kick right against the forehead! He does another, glancing underneath to see if Luchador is cut (but no such luck), so he throws yet another only to have IL cover his face with his hands. Jenkins throws an elbow against Luchador’s spine, his hands reaching towards his back, and he’s able to nail a vicious kick to his face, one so fierce that he doesn’t even check to see if IL bleeds. He does. Luchador falls onto all fours, seeing the all too familiar sight of blooding dripping onto the canvas in front of him, and he stands back up to a loud string of cheers, nonchalantly swiping it away as if it were flop sweat. Hollywood isn’t impressed, intimidated, or even amused by Luchador and so he leaps out with a kick to Luchador’s chest, followed by another, and he takes a small step back before sending a high kick towards Luchador’s head. The kick is accurately aimed but the quick veteran knows the third blow coming, and so he holds up his hands, absorbing majority of the strike rather painlessly.

 

“Luchador is showing some real relentlessness,” Mak says. “That’s no surprise but that seems to be all he’s showing as he isn’t mounting much of a counterattack.”

 

Luchador tries to throw a kick towards the ribs but Spike catches it but IL doesn’t miss a beat before jumping to throw the free leg over to connect with a smacking enzuigiri. Jenkins, shaken but mostly pissed at getting caught by it, falls back against the canvas, only to bounce right back up. He lunges at Luchador but only grabs at the air since IL has ducked underneath him, using the chance to get behind Spike and he instantly hits him with an elbow to the back of his head, slightly staggering Hollywood.

 

“Well, are you surprised, Mak?” King asks, choosing the neglect the enzuigiri that just occurred. “I’ll admit it, Luchador has tons and tons of heart but if the brains aren’t there then the heart isn’t beating and so the heart isn’t worth having,” King replies with slightly twisted logic, bashing the World Champion.

 

Jenkins whirls around with another spinning backfist but Luchador evades it in a swift duck, now coming back with his own spinning backfist that nails his opponent right in the face! Hollywood reels back from the counter so IL goes on the offensive, shooting out with hard kick against Spike’s ribs. The kick stuns Spike and allows the Ill One to slip his hands behind his head with the Muay Thai clinch, instantly pulling him in, and bringing up a sharp knee. He follows it with yet another knee and Spike now begins to react by trying to his free his head while using his arms to shield the blow from Luchador’s knee. But the Ill One slips one into the ribs that lets him grab Spike’s head, bringing it towards his knee, and unloads a punishing knee directly into his face! The crowd explodes into cheers as Luchador throws the limp Jenkins onto the canvas, quickly going for the covering-

 

“ONE!”

 

 

“TWO!” Jenkins breaks the pin fall to the groan from the crowd but the World Champion simply grabs Spike by the hair, tugging his dazed opponent to his feet, and blasting him with a dropkick that sends him reeling back against the ropes. IL rushes to his feet and charges at his opponent but Jenkins smartly ducks and timing the launch to send IL flying towards the outside with a back body drop but he nimbly catches the rope, safely landing on the ring apron. Jenkins, his back turned to Luchador and his chest heaving, hears the round of cheers and looks over to see exactly what he didn’t want to see- an angry Luchador who catches him with a hard elbow. IL leaps onto the top rope and wastes no time to springboard off, his legs extended in front of him, beginning to wrap around Jenkins’ neck, and looking for the hurricanrana when Hollywood suddenly clutches his calves. He drops to the canvas and sends Luchador bouncing off the mat with a sit-out powerbomb reversal with loud jeers breaking out.

 

“That was an impressive reversal,” King admits to Mak’s nod.

 

“It certainly was and he’s going for the cover,” Francis notices as Jenkins keeps a hold on Luchador’s legs, using his own legs to pin Luchador’s shoulders down to the canvas.

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

Luchador busts out of the pin fall, rolling away from his opponent in hopes to recover, but Spike is already way ahead of him, standing up, and walking towards him to stop him with a stomp. He reaches down, picking IL up while keeping behind him, and he lazily locks in a rear waistlock before heaving Luchador over with a German suplex! He stands back up, pushing his hair out of his face with a cocky smile. Meanwhile Luchador pushes himself onto his knees before Spike takes advantage of the opportune position, coming at him with a hard kick right to his chest that reverberates in the arena!

 

“Oh!” Mak blurts out in sympathy. “That was one hell of a hard kick and it just shows you the venom that Jenkins possesses in those kicks.”

 

Luchador remains on his knees, however, and grunts in pain before Jenkins delivers another slapping kick! Luchador sways and Spike hits a mini-kick that enables him to step beside Luchador. The Ill One can sense what’s coming but has absolutely no time to react as Spike unleashes a vicious kick into the back of his head, causing him to fall forward onto his face, causing the Baltimore crowd to cry for blood, and leaving Mak once again groaning in sympathy.

 

“Another hard shot right to the head and Hollywood may have the upper hand here,” Mak says.

 

“Tides turn quick in matches,” King points out. “I may not like, hell, even tolerate our World Champion but I have to admit he’s a damn fine opportunist.”

 

“A second chance is all Luchador can ever need to turn the tables,” Mak insists.

 

“Or a third, fourth, fifth, six, or even seventh year if we’re talking years passed without a chance at the World title,” King retorts.

 

Jenkins stomps on Luchador’s back, taunting him to stand back up, and Hollywood must realize how unfair of a request that is while keeping him down with his stomping. So, being the every-so-fantastic person Hollywood has proven himself to be, Jenkins takes a few steps back, allowing the World Champion to push himself up. He staggers back onto his feet and Jenkins sidesteps behind him, now breaking into a charge for the ropes, and IL looks around for the missing Spike. He finally turns around to see Jenkins rocketing towards him and can sense the upcoming move, which is confirmed when Spike extends his arm, looking for a vicious lariat! Instead Luchador ducks underneath the attempt, momentum causing Spike to stumble forward, and he spins around right into a front toe kick from Luchador! The Ill One lunges forward and wraps an arm around Jenkins’ head to lock in the front headlock but the skilled veteran is able to push free of Luchador’s grasp, now kneeing IL in the gut. He once again gets the standing headscissors and looks ready to grab Luchador’s arms when the World Champion snags the back of Spike’s legs, pulling them out, and leaving Jenkins falling down to the canvas! Luchador keeps a hold of his opponent’s legs and instantly flips over to create a bridge that pins Spike!

 

“ONE!”

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

“THREE!” The crowd chants but no bell is rung since Kivell shoots up two fingers since Spike barely breaks the pin in time.

 

Luchador, mostly glad to have dodged another Endwell, stands back up and lets Jenkins roll up onto his feet with a growl. They collide once again and Spike shoots off a leg kick that Luchador catches! He hops on his feet when IL tugs him in, letting go of his leg, and using the opportunity to lock in the front headlock to a roar of cheers. Spike desperately tries to slip free again but it’s useless since Luchador grabs a handful of his tights, lifting him into the air, and dropping down to plaster him with the Implant DDT! The roars near a defeaning level as Mak proclaims-

 

“Implant DDT! Luchador’s going for the cover and I think he has this one won!”

 

“ONE!” The crowd happily chants while Kivell lifts his hand once again.

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

“TTTHHHHRREEEEEE!”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Man in the Box” hits and Luchador rolls off of the groaning Jenkins, who clutches at his head, and IL stands back up. He wipes the blood, fresh and crusted alike, off his forehead onto his taped hands and throws his arms high into the air. Kivell walks over with the World Championship, handing it back to Luchador, who slings it onto his shoulders while riling up the crowd.

 

“IL’s winning streak continues with an impressive win over ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins!” Mak exclaims. “What comes next for our World Champion is unknown but what’s coming next for us is a grudge match for the ages, because Taiga Star and Annie will collide in a Last Woman Standing, Cage match!”

 

“Nothing beats a good catfight, especially after the sour taste this match left in my mouth,” King points out.

 

“It’ll be much more than a catfight,” Mak replies. “So don’t go away!”

 

-Starwipe-

[Toxxic 0]

 

Inside the well-furnished dressing room, we hear nothing of note, other than repeated intense grunts and short redundant breaths. No change in rhythm, like a machine. Interjected in all this is the intermittent sound of iron colliding against iron. Like two weights brushing against each other.

 

As the camera pans over towards him, Daniel Smith's demeanor is the definition of 'focused'. Alternating between his left and right hand, he can be seen curling 80 lbs dumbbells up to his shoulders. Maintaining his impressive natural physique, nothing can deter him from pushing himself to the limit and achieving an always-ready state of mind.

 

 

 

Except for the soothing acoustic tones of a strumming guitar…

 

 

"…What?" asks Tod James Stuart, with raised eyebrow.

 

We pan over and see the peaceful image… of Tod James Stuart, looking back at his partner, sitting at his couch. Wearing his favorite custom-made "Don Hertzfeldt Presents The Animation Show" t-shirt, he holds the instrument carefully, strumming and plucking notes at random.

 

"…'the hell?" asks Daniel, the photo-definition of a man puzzled.

 

"Look, I know what you're gonna say. I know this may not be the ideal setting for this, but this is how I like to wind down, ok?" says Tod, adding another strum. "Come to think of it, didn't I see you once eyeballing ol' Bessie Lou back at the Clinic?" he asks, tapping the wooden frame of his instrument. "Come on, I'm sure there's a kickass ballad sleeping in that poet soul of yours, just waiting to fly out!"

 

"…No."

 

"Just look at it this way; ever since our grueling, ahem, hard-fought victory against the Norsemen last month, Landon saw it fit to give us the night off! So I figure we just cool our heels, take it easy tonight. We have this pretty nice dressing room at our disposal. Sweet leather couch, extra durable doors, some kind of…"he takes a peek at the floor. "…Arab-"

 

"Persian."

 

"Persian carpet… well, it looks really nice. Landon said we can have all the catering we want, I hear the cheese platter is out of this world. With all that, I'm gonna spend the evening playing with Ol' Bessie Lou!"

 

"Please stop naming your guitar."

 

Daniel tries to resume his reps while Tod begins plucking a series of notes that resemble 'Stairway To Heaven' a little too much. Upon realizing it, he abruptly stops.

 

"Wait, this one's much better…" he continues, firing up another midtempo chord. "This one is known as… Chopping Broccoli… Two! Three! Four!"

 

There's a lady I know

If I didn't know her

She'd be…

The lady… I didn't know

 

My lady, she went downtown

She bought some bro-

 

"Dude." interrupts Daniel, his face painted with flabbergastment. "…No."

 

"…You're right, you're right. Inappropriate context. Y'know what? It just happens to be the playoffs. Sure, our Mighty Leafs sucked it hard this year and didn't make it to postseason, but that's okay! It's the spirit that counts! You got four good teams left, trying to win the coolest trophy ever. So there's only one song that's fitting…" says Tod, scratching his cheek with his pick and thoroughly clearing this throat.

 

Tod then takes an extra second to tune his 6th string, and launches into a quicker-paced folk-like tune familiar to all Canadians.

 

Hello out there, we're on the air, it's hockey night tonight

Tension grows, the whistle blows and the puck goes down the ice

The goalie jumps and the players bump and the fans all go insane

Someone roars: Bobby scores!!

At the good ol' hockey game

 

"Everybody!"

 

Ooooh, the good ol' hockey game, is the best game you can name

And the best game you can name, is the good ol' hockey game.

 

"Say it, Dan The Man!"

 

"No."

 

"Second period!"

 

Where players dash with skates aflash the home team trails behind

But they grab the puck and go bursting up and they're down across the line

They storm the crease like bumble bees they travel like a burning flame

We see them slide the puck inside!

It's a "1-1" hockey game!

 

Ooooh, the good ol' hockey game, is the best game you can name

And the best game you can name, is the good ol' hockey game.

 

"Say it, my friend!"

 

"I won't."

 

"Last game of the playoffs!"

 

Oh, take me where the hockey players face off down the rink

And the Stanley Cup is all filled up for the chaps who win the drink

Now the final flick of the hockey stick and a one gigantic scream

The puck is in! The home team wins! The good ol' hockey game!

 

"One last time!"

 

Oooooh, the good ol'- -…

 

Tod interrupts his song at the sight of his annoyed partner holding up his index finger, indicating that he wishes to speak.

 

"Is this gonna be a thing from now on?" asks Dan. "I'm about two seconds away from wrapping Bessie Lou around your head."

 

"Look, I know where you're coming from. The card was already pretty filled up, so Landon didn't have anything for us. In exchange, he got us these arrangements. This gives us plenty of time to think. Remember how I was a U.S. champion here, some years ago?"

 

"49 days. You'd never shut up about it."

 

"That was my only taste of gold around here. Needless to say, I want more. And I'm positive you wouldn't mind your piece, either. So…" says Tod, strumming a slow chord. "Until we figure out if we want to go for the tag team titles… or me going for the World Title… or YOU going for the World Title… we just take it easy."

 

With all the intensity he brings to the table, Daniel Smith also knows his place and is able to bring himself to an admission most wouldn't dare to honestly give.

 

"Don't be crazy, man. I ain't ready for that yet." he says. "If anything, that belt should be yours. Someday."

 

"I've known Andrew for many years. If anything, he's got heart. I know you'd give him a hell of a run for his money… Could *I* beat him? Well… we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime…" says Tod, firing up Bessie Lou once again.

 

If I leave here tomorrow

Would you still remember me

For I must be travelling on, now

'Cuz there's too many places I've got to see

But if I stayed with you girl-…

 

"Go to hell." concludes Dan, before storming out of camera view.

 

"What! It's better than Stairway!!" yells Tod to his leaving partner. "Pff…"

 

Fade.

[Toxxic 0]

"We're back for the Main Event, Mak Francis here with Suicide King and things are very likely to get very ugly."

 

 

 

Backstage personnel try to shuffle away from the camera as they wrap up setting up the cage.

 

 

 

“This has been a hard fought series that... well...”

 

King pauses for a moment, seemingly for no reason. There's a shuffle of paper as Mak tries to silently slip his cohort a clue.

 

King skims the notes in front of him, deadpanning his speech, "This is the third match these two have had in a row, and boy, what a hard-hitting series of matches it has been. Taiga took the victory first, then Annie won the second. this match should determine who is the best woman in the SWF."

 

More shuffling is heard as Mak hands something else to him.

 

“What's that?” asks King.

 

“A stamp, so you can mail in your color work tonight,” says Mak, “luckily for you I've just gotten word that a video package has been prepared. We'll take you to it now."

 

 

 

The SmarkTron comes to life (and for those watching this on DVD, the video just comes on automatically) with a highlight reel of Annie and Taiga's last two matches. A montage in black and white save for the red of their blood, set to an instrumental of Metallica's 'Free Speech for the Dumb'. The video stops with just three words:

 

'Eclectic v. Star'.

 

This cuts to the same image on the SmarkTron, fans cheering becoming visible as the camera pans back then turns to the ring. Funyon stands in the center, microphone in hand.

 

 

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is our main event of the evening and is a Last Woman Standing Cage Match! There are no submissions, pinfalls, count-outs or disqualifications. The last woman to make it to her feet by the count of ten will win the match!"

 

 

The only boy I understand

The one ashamed to be a maaaaaaan...

 

 

Ultraviolet lasers stream from the entrance as Taiga Star appears from behind the curtain. She is dressed entirely in black, which isn't much different than what she normally wears, but has on black cargo pants cut off at the knees. She is focused, not her usually fan-slapping self. Slapping hands, that is.

 

“Introducing first, from Helltown – Haverhill, Massachussetts... she is the Princess of HAAAAARDCOOOOOORE... TAIGA! STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR!”

 

 

 

Taiga reaches the ring and walks around, staring at the steel walls. She stares at the door with a steely determination before walking up and entering the structure. Taiga stretches inside the ring, pulling occasionally on the wire mesh to check for strength.

 

 

 

“Everyone knows Annie's credentials, at least Allison makes sure that we do,” begins Mak, “That in and of itself is enough reason to take this caustic newcomer seriously. She's fought Eclectic hard in her own element twice now and probably should have a two and oh record on the Queen now.”

 

“In a style where anything goes, you ask for interference,” says King, “And you must be naive to not be ready for that or to blame that for your loss. Allison was there for her charge like a good trainer should be.”

 

 

 

Funyon pulls a small red envelope from his breast pocket, opens it, and reads it over and over, not believing is written. The camera catches Funyon's eyes go wide as the music cuts. He makes a beeline to the door and exits the cage before continuing.

 

 

 

“What the hell is up with Funyon?” asks King.

 

“Maybe he realized he was seconds away from being a Funyon sandwich,” quips Mak.

 

“With me as the mayonnaise,” replies King.

 

...

 

“Did I say that out loud?”

 

 

 

Funyon coughs before readying his microphone again, “And her opponent... from the Shinjuku region of Tokyo, Japan...”

 

 

 

The arena is instantly bathed in red light, a Moog-powered gong reverberating everyone in their seats. A few women in the crowd shriek in fright. An impossibly shinier red spotlight casts a hellish circle on the curtains.

 

 

 

“Oh HELL no...” says Mak.

 

 

 

Again with the grating electronic bass as an eerie melody plays out... yet familiar. Older fans in the crowd begin a chant that gets all but drowned out. It's the title track to 'A Clockwork Orange' and the brighter red spotlight that appeared on the entrance ramp now illuminates a hooded figure in a kimono, slowly shuffling to the ring. The chant picked up a few more voices, as memories get jogged...

 

 

Laaii-Dee Reh-ehhd *clompclompclomp*

 

 

 

Funyon is well on his way to the relative safety of the timekeeper's table as he makes the rest of the announcement. "Weighing in at one hundred sixty five pounds... she is the appointed assassin to the Nekura Clan... LAAAADYYY! RED!!”

 

Funyon sharply turns and walks briskly back to his seat. Some fans cheer out of pure shock but most simply look down on the still hooded figure as she walks up the ring steps. She stops at the door, slowly unraveling the ceremonial garb of the Clan.

 

 

 

“Annie is not normally a stable woman,” begins Mak, “But when she's in that getup, bets are off in that head of hers! I honestly don't want to announce this match, King.”

 

“I'll protect you snookums...”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“In all seriousness though,” says King, “Mak's right – the Clan weren't just a bunch of psycho Japanese workers, they were master recruiters. Only the craziest, deadliest, or in Tom Flesher's case flat out best made in their ranks. Lady Red... was in the crazy category.”

 

“And deadly,” adds Mak.

 

 

 

Finished unraveling, Annie pulls back on the hood and allows all of the silk to drop. The lights return to normal, revealing Eclectic in an all-red version of her UnderArmor gear, face painted pure white a tiny red teardrop by the corner of each eye. Red lips thin at the site of the Hardcore Princess. Eclectic smiles, and bows towards Star.

 

 

 

“But will any of this matter?" Mak asks. "The Clan were masters of the mind game – take note, WERE - and assuming Annie didn't just blow a gasket, this is all just to freak the junior fighter out. Has Taiga even heard of the Clan?”.

 

“Probably not,” responds King, “I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't know what SWF stood for... so wait, are you saying that ignorance might be Taiga's best defense?”

 

“Even though I know I'll regret saying this, yes.”

 

“Then she's the safest goddamn person in this building!”

 

 

 

Referee Nick Soapdish is already in the ring, stretching and warming up for what could be a long and hard-hitting match. An assistant outside of the ring grabs the silks while another closes and locks the door with a heavy steel chain and padlock. Taiga and Annie get face to face in the middle of the ring, Lady Red staring down at her opponent unblinking. Star shifts her weight side to side, just waiting for the time to strike.

 

 

Soapdish calls for the bell.

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

Taiga immediately tries for a uppercut, but Eclectic steps away from the strike. A straight right gets batted aside and the left forearm after it blocked. Sidestepping a jab, Annie returns with a swift knee to Star's midsection doubling her over. A second and third knee strike take the air right out of her lungs. Without missing a beat, Red wraps her arm around Taiga's skull and drops back, spiking Star's head into the mat.

 

 

 

“If this stays technical there's not much hope of Taiga keeping up,” says King, “Which can only lead to a more entertaining match from where I sit.”

 

 

 

As Red gets up she waives off the official's attempt to count, pointing at the near turnbuckle. A few 'oooh's rise from the fans as Eclectic climbs up the ropes. Upon reaching the top, she stands straight and still, breathing in deeply. Red crosses her arms across her chest, closes her eyes and simply falls backwards...

 

 

 

“Death Knell!” Mak screams, “Eclectic has come out here and no nonsense just wants to take Taiga Star out....”

 

 

 

Eclectic turns over and lies on the mat face first, clutching at the hair on the back of her head. She kicks the mat next to her victim Taiga Star... who slowly sits up and shakes her head as if to clear out cobwebs.

 

 

 

“... and will apparently not do that with any type of headbutt move.”

 

“You weren't kidding, Mak – that thick skull of Taiga's really will help her!”

 

 

 

Star hears the official count to one before getting up to her knees. She reaches out and grabs one of her opponent's wrists as she rises to her feet. Planting one foot by Red's head and the other at her waist, Taiga locks Annie's arm straight and falls back – rolling Annie over into a cross arm breaker! Eclectic clenches her fist and screams but remains oddly still as the pressure on her elbow rises.

 

 

 

“An interestingly technical attack from Taiga Star and Eclectic is in a bad spot right away,” says Mak, “Remember, no tapping out, only a ten count can stop it, this hold could go until the elbow breaks!”

 

 

 

Annie takes advantage of her opponent's shorter legspan by whipping her balled up fist hard into the thick muscle of Star's thigh. With surprising speed, Eclectic manages to land four or five strong blows before the deadleg effect forces Taiga to roll off. Red rolls herself over to the nearest ropes and grasps the middle one to try and pull herself up.

 

 

 

“I count two possible injuries so far, both to the assassin,” says Mak, “as Taiga takes a surprisingly technical approach to this fight.”

 

“Or was too baked to remember the rules,” offers King.

 

 

 

Just as Eclectic pulls herself to her feet, Taiga comes in with a football tackle out of nowhere! The assassin gets speared viciously into the side of the cage, entangling herself between the first and second ropes. Taiga backs herself out of the tangled mess and retreats to the center of the ring... only to charge back in with a running boot to the head! The crowd POPS!!

 

 

 

“Yakuza kick!” yells Mak over the roar of the crowd, “The Princess is dominating the early going here, with no fear whatsoever!”

 

“Yeah, but we both know that the mind games are based on a dose of truth,” says King, “And in this match, in that mindset, Annie Eclectic is capable of anything. Taiga better remember she's trying to survive more than win.”

 

 

 

Soapdish shoves Star away to try and untangle Lady Red from the ropes. After some moments of struggle, Annie drops in a heap to the ring apron. Blood begins to trickle down from above her left eye. Taiga pounces on her prone opponent with stomps and kicks, trying to open the wound up more. Backing off, Star decides to have the official count...

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Lady Red's hand shoots up to the second rope again...

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Pulling her half-bloodied face up then grabbing for the top rope...

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Causing Taiga to come over for some extra persuasion to keep Eclectic down...

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

Which is followed by a red cloud striking Taiga in the face! Star jerks herself around, trying to flee from the blinding bodily fluid.

 

 

 

“Blood Mist!” says Mak, “A surprise attack that is both stunning and disgusting at the same time.”

 

 

 

Red steps through the ropes and grabs the back of Taiga's head and charges forward with wild abandon. The assassin puts on the brakes but Taiga ends up face first into the cage! Star drops like a sack of change and slumps with her back against the ropes. Annie takes advantage by kicking her hard between her shoulder blades, driving Taiga's face into the steel! Without blinking, Red dashes to the far ropes, returning with a vicious dropkiss to steel sandwich!

 

 

 

"Taiga's face isn't going to get any better looking after this match," King scoffs, "blood is already starting to pour out of her head as well."

 

"This hasn't been the first time these ladies have shed blood in the ring, and I highly doubt it will be the last."

 

 

 

Eclectic walks over to Star and grabs a large amount of Star's locks to drag her up to her feet. A swift knee to the gut doubles the Hardcore Princess over but the second knee hitting the face straightens her back up. Red throws and elbow to the temple, another to the opposite side and another knee to the stomach, slowly backing her up to the corner.

 

 

 

“Unless you know you have things well in hand, Mak!” says King, “Was the assassin playing possum this entire time? I love this sadistic switch that got flipped, I wonder if there's a method to invoke it in others...”

 

 

 

Taking Star's wrist, Eclectic whips her opponent across the ring hard into the opposite corner. With a hop, Annie charges at Taiga, hitting the center of the ring with a cartwheel followed by a back handspring into an elbow! Taiga staggers out from the corner but manages to stay on her feet... barely. Lady Red speedily climbs the ropes behind her opponent, looking back to make sure no ambush awaits her. Star turns around as Annie jumps off the turnbuckle with a cross body... but Taiga catches her!

 

Then, using her strength, she hoists Annie overhead and deposits her head-first in between the ropes and the cage. Annie gets stuck there, her legs are hooked over the top rope and some of her gear is stuck to the cage. Taiga runs off the opposite rope, getting a head of steam, and dropkicks Annie, between the ropes, against the cage. Again, she dropkicks her. She does it a third time and it disentangles Annie from the ropes and causes her to slide to the apron, bending her neck awkwardly.

 

 

 

"The steel mesh of the cage is just eating away at these girls, King."

 

"Thank you, Doctor Obvious."

 

 

 

Taiga pulls Annie unceremoniously out from under the bottom rope, paying no mind to how the cage is ripping at her gear, arms, and legs. Dragging her into the middle of the ring, Taiga has no problem locking Annie's legs and pulling her backward into a surfboard stretch. She wrenches away with her fingers under Annie's chin. Then she take Annie's arms and puts her into a weird little full nelson, twisting back and forth, pulling Annie's back in several directions. She then releases her arms and elbows Annie in the face. Over and over, Taiga elbows her.

 

 

 

Mak makes an observation on the volume of blood coming from the centre of Annie's face. "Taiga's busted her nose right open!"

 

 

 

Releasing Annie, Taiga stands up and leans on the ropes a moment. The referee is looking at Annie, she has her hands over her face. Taiga tells him to hurry up with the counting.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Annie is rolling around, kicking the mat in pain.

 

 

TWO!

 

 

She is on her knees. Letting go of her face and looking up allows everyone to see her nose crooked.

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Annie walks on her knees to the side of the cage, and spits out a mouthfull of blood through the wire mesh.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Annie stands up, breaking the count, and turns around right into a big boot! Annie's face is about kicked off, and she spins around back into the cage. Taiga picks her up and throws her with a German suplex... then she rolls through and delivers another... then another!

 

 

 

"Rolling Germans!"

 

 

 

Taiga points at the ref, then at Red. He counts.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Taiga paces a bit.

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Annie rolls over and gets to her knees.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Taiga runs over and kicks her int he head, knocking her over. She turns her over, grabs her legs, and starts to swing her around... and around... with a giant swing... around... and around... the ref has to move... and around... close to the cage... and arou... BAM! The crowd pops!

 

 

 

"How can Taiga still be standing after spinning all that time?"

 

King turns to Mak. "She's already pretty dizzy, so I'm certain it doesn't affect her much."

 

 

 

Taiga turns away from Red for only a short moment, but that's all it takes for her to pull Star down to the mat. Then Eclectic mounts her, laying in knee after brutal knee, to the sides of Taiga's face. By her hair, she pulls Star up and continues to knee her before whipping her hard across the ring. Taiga would have bounced off the side if it wasn't for being held up by her shirt being caught in the steel.

 

Red hovers over her for a second before grabbing Taiga's hair again and threading her up between the ropes and the cage, the wire cutting Star's face as she is scraped across the surface. Then Lady Red ties her up into a... Red Tarantula!! Taiga screams in pain and Annie screams for her to die.

 

 

 

The Annie pulls hard on the fallen form of Star, gradually getting her through the ropes and onto her feet. She pulls Taiga up straight and locks in an apparent uranage... but instead bends Star back and knees her in the back of the head! Just as suddenly, she swings up and drops back to the mat, whipping Taiga face first into the canvas with the Russian leg Sweep!

 

 

 

"Hide Your Face!" Mak exclaims.

 

"It's a devastating move, Mak, and obviously drawing inspiration from another Royal figure around here. With the amount of punishment these two girls have dished out, this could be it for her."

 

"I doubt it, both of these women are hard to keep down."

 

 

 

Taiga lays motionless on the mat. Nick Soapdish begins the count ...

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Annie gets up.

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Annie climbs the turnbuckles...

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

...And begins climbing up the corner of the cage!

 

 

 

"Here we go,” starts Mak, “The unpredictability... what is Lady Red going to do?”

 

"I think she just wants to cause more pain, and frankly I'm in complete approval,” says King.

 

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

Annie is now on the corner of the cage and attempting to stand on it, looking for a flying move. She stands, faces the outside of the ring, then she just freefalls backwards, planning on hitting Taiga with yet another Death Knell...

 

...But Taiga rolls out of the way at the last moment, and Annie lands hard on the back of her head!! Both women lay lifeless on the mat, and the referee counts.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

“Again Eclectic goes to the Death Knell and again it fails for her,” says Mak, “I'm starting to think her head's really back in 2002 here – only Lady Red would take so many unnecessary risks to just hurt her opponent.”

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

The crowd begins to chant... no one chant getting a full hold on the fans...

 

 

THREE!

 

 

The camera takes a good look at Eclectic, her original Lady Red mask no longer visible beyond the blood...

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Taiga slowly begins to stir, wiggling fingers and blinking at the lights way way out in front of her.

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

Rolling over, she gets to the bottom rope... followed by a Let's-go Tai-ga! chant from the fans.

 

 

SIX!

 

 

The assassin's foot twitches a little bit, her eyes beginning to open...

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Let's go La-dy! Fans start up a chant as Eclectic's arm starts brushing against the mat, her body trying to turn itself around, but fails.

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

Taiga, already on her knees, manages to stand back up.

 

 

NINE!

 

 

Eclectic... flat on her back... kips up to a standing position! Staring at Soapdish, she calls again for the count to be stopped!!

 

 

 

"Talking about just in the the nick of time!" exclaims Mak.

 

"There you go again with the cliches, using them like they were a dime a dozen."

 

 

 

Annie falls again to her knees, grabbing the back of her head. Taiga walks slowly to her, and weakly kicks her in the head. Annie goes down, and as Taiga goes to kick her again, Lady Red grabs her leg and pulls her down. The two roll on the mat a bit before getting to their knees and facing each other in the middle of the ring, where Taiga gives the first strike, a forearm to the face. Annie is dazed.

 

 

 

"CATFIGHT~!" King shouts.

 

"Honestly, King, with the amount of effort these two have put into this series of matches, it's way beyond simple 'catfights'. What an insulting term for these two hard-hitting athletes."

 

 

 

Annie strikes back with an elbow to the temple, making Taiga's head roll about on her shoulders. Shaking it off, Taiga dishes out another forearm. Annie brushes it off and right out slaps Star in the face, which Taiga returns in quick time, and just as quick Annie elbows Star in the head.

 

Taiga rears back and delivers a left handed punch to Annie's jaw. This phases Annie greatly, she is sent back almost all the way to the mat. Taiga leans over, grabs a handful of red hair, pulls her back up, and delivers a headbutt that hurts herself almost as much as it hurt Annie.

 

 

 

"See King, now that's how you do a headbutt!"

 

 

 

Both women rub their heads reeling. Then Annie returns the headbutt with an elbow her own. Taiga shakes this off rather quick and headbutts her back. A sickening thud echoes throughout the arena, like two rocks thrown against each other. Both women fly backwards at the impact. The crowd goes nuts and the ref counts again.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

The women begin to show signs of life.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

Taiga gets to her feet first.

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

Annie follows suit, stopping the count. They are both on rubbery legs as they stumble to each other, and they get forehead to forehead, sneering and mouthing off to each other. Annie has enough of that and shows it by slapping the taste out of her mouth. Taiga has enough of that and slaps her back. Quickly it escalates onto an exchange of slaps, elbows, and forearms.

 

 

 

"There's no love lost between these two."

 

 

 

The brutal exchange continues until Taiga wraps her arms around Annie's waist and throws her with a belly to belly suplex. Annie rolls right out of it, though, and grabs Taiga for an exploder! Taiga is right back up though, gets behind Annie, and performs a t-bone suplex! Annie rolls out of it though, seemingly out on her feet, but somehow she pulls off another suplex! Taiga stands, pounds the mat and lets out a scream, then picks Annie up for a BRAINBUSTAAAHHH~!! Both wrestlers are down!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Taiga raises her arms, just to have them flop back down onto the mat.

 

 

THREE!

 

 

Annie hasn't moved.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

"Just stay down, girls, just stay down."

 

 

SIX!

 

 

"This just isn't right, King. When is enough enough?"

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Taiga turns over onto her hands and knees.

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

Annie barely moves.

 

 

NINE!

 

 

Taiga stands up.

 

 

TE....

 

 

Annie surprises everyone with another quick kick-up, right at the last possible second!!

 

 

 

"Neither of these girls are going to stop, not until one is in a coma. Or worse!"

 

"Listen to the crowd, they're loving this, appreciating this feud. They're cheering for both women at this point."

 

 

 

Taiga seems frustrated at Annie's lack of staying down. She runs at Annie with a fist, but Annie ducks and hoists Taiga up to deposit her on the mat with a Death Valley Driver! Then she looks up at the top of the cage...

 

 

 

"Is she thinking about another move from the top of the cage?" asks Mak, "Lady Red will kill herself to take out an opponent."

 

 

 

She is, indeed, thinking about another move from the top of the cage. She climbs to the top turnbuckle and begins slowly scaling the sides of the cage, sore and wanting to get the match over with.

 

Taiga sees that she is going for another high-impact move and she scrambles to her feet, grabbing her head as the entire arena spins around her. She barely gets her bearings before she climbs the corner right behind Annie.

 

Taiga grabs her by the foot and tries to pull her down but Annie kicks her away, then kicks at her again for good measure. Taiga is kicked back down to the ring but she makes quick time climbing up to the top turnbuckle.

 

Meanwhile, Annie has reached the top of the cage. Taiga isn't very far behind her. Annie swings down at Taiga, misses, and Taiga swings up at Annie, which she doesn't miss. Annie holds onto the cage tightly, not wanting to fall as she sits precariously on the edge. Using just her arms, Taiga hoists herself up so she is also sitting on the edge.

 

 

 

"That's a lot of weight for Taiga to be pulling up there."

 

"Maybe it's because she is an extremely strong woman?"

 

 

 

Again the two begin exchanging strikes, perched atop the steel. Annie hits a high knee to Taiga good in the jaw. Taiga lands a hard neck chop. Annie with an elbow. Taiga with a headbutt. They are delivering a beating twenty feet off the floor, balanced carefully, each strike bringing them closer to falling out of the cage.

 

Taiga is the first to lose her grip on the cage, by Annie with a carefully placed lick to the side of her head. Taiga teeters... she wabbles... and she almost falls, but manages to catch herself on the top of the cage with her elbows. She scrambles up, now dangling inside the ring, her head barely above the top of the steel.

 

Annie positions herself for what appears to be some sort of hurricarana, hooking her legs around Taiga's head, Annie's crotch right in her face. Which the crowd would usually hoot over, but they are watching breathlessly, anxiously anticipating the next big move from them, hanging onto every movement.

 

Getting momentum by swinging her arms first, Annie starts the move... but Taiga has a firm hold on the cage. Annie almost slips off her shoulders, but her leg strength prevents her from falling into the ring, and she is hanging off Taiga's neck, dangling down her back. Taiga manages to climb up the structure, even with Annie on her like that.

 

Then Taiga jumps. She attempts some spinning rotating superplex type of move, but in reality, both girls hit the mat. Hard. Hard enough to shake the cage. Hard enough to knock the Referee Soapdish over. Hard enough for the ring to move!!!

 

 

ONE!

 

 

The crowd is going insane!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

"What was that move she just did?" Mak asks.

 

 

THREE!

 

 

"I'd call that... a flying botch?" King says with a smirk.

 

 

FOUR!

 

 

"Whatever it was, it sure was effective in hurting her opponent, even if it also hurt herself."

 

 

FIVE!

 

 

Neither woman even attempts to move.

 

 

SIX!

 

 

Taiga rolls over.

 

 

SEVEN!

 

 

Annie is motionless.

 

 

EIGHT!

 

 

The crowd is clapping and Taiga tries to reach the ropes.

 

 

NINE!

 

 

Taiga touches the rope, but can't seem to move further. The Assassin, in autopilot, kicks her legs up but doesn't have a chance of getting up.

 

 

 

...TEN!!!

 

 

 

The ref calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!

 

 

Soapdish tells Funyon the result of the match, then stands up and waves frantically to the back.

 

 

 

Funyon makes his announcement. "Ladies and Gentlemen, due to neither wrestler responding to the ten count, referee Nick Soapdish has ruled this match a draw!!"

 

 

 

There is some cheering from the crowd, but most are watching the ring silently, obviously concerned for the welfare of the two women engaged within it. A group of backstage workers come out to the ring and begin to disassemble the cage. Once one side is down, a handful of doctors, trainers, and emergency personnel enter the ring and begin checking on the wrestlers.

 

 

 

“What a grueling, destructive match,” says Mak, “All to end in a draw... I can only hope this is the last we see of these two if only to save on funeral bills!”

 

 

~~

 

 

Minutes pass, and finally one woman begins to show signs of life – Taiga Star. Medics have her on her knees and her eyes open, no small feat. All of a sudden, Eclectic kipups to her feet to the surprise of the people working on her. Wild eyed, medics try to hold her back as she staggers to her opponent. People prepare to separate the two when Annie drops to her knees to face the Hardcore Princess.

 

 

 

Nothing happens. Everyone in the ring watches tensely.

 

 

 

“I don't even know if Eclectic should be moving right now after that fall...” says Mak, “Someone should restrain her before she possibly hurts herself beyond repair... or someone else for that matter!”

 

 

 

Swerving even on her knees, the former assassin holds a hand out for a shake. Even through the pain Taiga takes in the situation with healthy skepticism.

 

 

 

“What is she doing?” asks King, “This isn't youth league hockey, it's the SWF!”

 

 

 

Inside the ring, Annie speaks to Taiga, although she's the only one close enough to hear the words...

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don't like you. You don't like me. If we keep going we'll both die. We're too even. I just want truce.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing happens. Somehow everyone is even more tense. That is, until Taiga accepts the handshake. Both women nod... and proceed to drop back to the mat in exhaustion.

 

 

 

“Call the undertaker... oh wait! That's kinda funny...” says King chuckling.

 

“Damaged doors don't come cheap, and apparently neither does respect. I can't say I know what just happened, but these two will never be the same, that's for certain. We're running out of time so join us again in two weeks for another night of SWF action! I'm Mak Francis, this is the Suicide King saying goodnight! ...Goodnight!”

 

 

 

© Applewhite Productions